"Then it was Tiny. I suppose she danced too much with those boys they have staying in the house. I should have thought there was respectability in numbers; I really don't see how they could matter."
"They seemed to matter to Manister," remarked Erskine dryly.
Ruth winced, but he had wondered whether she would, or he would never have noticed it.
"Surely you don't think Lord Manister cares who dances with our Tiny?"
The amusement in her tone and manner was cleverly feigned, but instead of deceiving Erskine it spurred him to speak out, after all.
"I hardly like to tell you what I think about Tiny and Lord Manister," he said gravely.
"What on earth do you mean, Erskine?" cried Ruth, reddening. "Now you must tell me!"
Erskine temporized, already regretting that he had said so much. "It would hurt your feelings," he warned her grimly.
"Not so much as your silence."
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't look on her as my own sister by this time, and if I didn't think her the best little girl in the world—but one."