"I wish I were a cousin of yours, so I could look after that toe present myself," said Richard daringly.
"You do miss a lot of fun, not having a jolly family Christmas like ours."
"I'm convinced of it. See here, Miss Ruth, there's something I want you to do for me if you will. When you waken to-morrow morning send me—a Christmas thought. Will you? I'll be looking for it."
Ruth drew back her head in order to look up into his face for an instant. "A Christmas thought?" she repeated, surprised.
He nodded. "As if I were a brother, you know, far away at the other side of the world—and lonely. I'll really be as far away from all your merry-making as if I were at the other side of the world, you see—and I'm not sure but I'll be as lonely."
"Why, Mr. Kendrick! You—lonely! I can't believe it!" Ruth almost forgot to keep step in her surprise. "But—of course, just you and your grandfather! Only—I've heard how popular—"
She paused, not venturing to tell him all she had heard of his gay and fashionable friends and how they were always inviting and pursuing him. "Are you always lonely at Christmas?" she ended.
"Always; though I've never realized what was the matter with me till this year. Do you care about finishing this dance? Let's stop in this nice corner and talk about it a minute."
It was the same corner, deserted now, where he had twice tried to keep her elusive sister. Ruth was easier to manage, for she was genuinely interested.
"Just this year," he explained, "I've found out why I've never cared for Christmas. It's a beastly day to me. I spend it as I should Sunday—get through with it somehow. At last I go out to dinner somewhere in the evening, and so end the day."