"And what did you say?"
"What do you suppose? I glory in that fib—I am honestly proud of it. But, dear, the point is, not that Lord Manister has never mentioned your name, but that he can bear neither name nor sight of the girl he is expected to marry! Lady Almeric told me when—I couldn't help her."
"He is a nice young man, I must say!" remarked Christina grimly. "My fellow-victim has a title, no doubt?"
"Well, it's Miss Garth, and her father's Lord Acklam, so she's the honorable," said Ruth gravely. (Tiny smiled at her gravity.) "But I've seen her, and—he can't like her! And oh! Tiny dear, they all say he left his heart in Australia, but his mother sent for him because she heard something—but not your name, dear—and he came. They say he is devoted to his mother; but this has come between them, and she's sorry she interfered, because after all he won't marry poor Miss Garth. I had it direct from Lady Almeric when she tried to get that out of me. But I lied like a trooper!" exclaimed poor Ruth.
"I'm grateful to you for that," Christina said, not ungraciously—"but I must really be going to bed."
With a last wistful glance at the orange-colored cardboard, Ruth took the hint. Christina turned away in time to avoid an embrace without showing her repugnance, because she had still some regard for Ruth's good heart. But she had never experienced a more grateful riddance, and the look that followed Ruth to the threshold would have kept her company for some time had she turned there and caught one glimpse of it.
"Now I understand!" said Christina to the closed door. "I suppose I ought to love you for it, Ruth; but I don't—no, I don't!"
She turned the photograph face upward, and stared thoughtfully at it for some minutes longer; then she put it away.