Ruth closed her novel.
"What is it, dear? I'm listening."
"When you wrote and invited me over you mentioned Essingham as one of the attractions. Now why couldn't you tell me the Dromards would be our neighbors there?"
Ruth raised her eyes from the younger girl's face to the rain-spattered window. Tiny's tone was cold, but not so cold as Tiny's searching glance. This made Ruth uncomfortable. It did not incapacitate her, however.
"The Dromards!" she exclaimed rather well. "Had they taken the place then?"
"You say they bought it before Christmas; it was after Christmas that you first wrote and expressly invited me."
"Was it? Well, my dear, I suppose I never thought of them; that's all. They aren't the only nice people thereabouts."
"I'm afraid you are not quite frank with me," the young girl said; and her own frankness was a little painful.
"Tiny, dear, what a thing to say! What does it mean?"
Ruth employed for these words the injured tone.