"You look tired, Ruth," he said kindly; "won't to-morrow—or"—for he saw it was well on toward one o'clock—"later in the day do?"
"Unless you are too weary to bide with me one little hour?" she replied wistfully; "it had better be now."
"You know what an owl I am, Ruth. With returning health my old habits seem to gain strength. I sleep more satisfactorily if I do it after midnight." He settled back comfortably in his chair, and the fire, encouraged by several small logs, rose to the occasion.
"I've been thinking about—Philip to-night."
"Poor girl. It was a year ago! To remember Phil best, we should be cheerful, but the subconscious sadness ran through all the evening's fun for you—and me, Ruth."
"Yes. Ralph, you only knew Phil a few years—never before he was married?"
"No, but he was one of those men who do not belong to time limit nor letters of introduction. His own knew him at a glance. There was no time to be lost with Phil. I've often noticed that faculty for deep and ready friendship among people who are here for only a short life. Others can afford to weigh and consider; they must garner quickly, and the Master seems to have equipped them."
"Ralph, was Phil a man that you felt you knew, really knew, I mean?"
"Yes; as to essentials. I never saw any one so positive as to the high lights. Honesty, truth, good faith, and a broad humanity. I always knew he had trouble that he did not talk about; he hinted that much to me once or twice, but the silence regarding it only intensified his own personality, of which he gave lavishly."
The woman bending toward the fire, shivered, and as her head sank lower, one shining braid of hair dropped forward, shielding her face.