She could not understand how that letter had been found in the pocket of the young man she had seen in the hospital ward. Tom Cameron certainly had written that letter. Ruth would not be free from worry until she had heard again from Tom, or of him.
The pension was not far away, and Ruth made her friend lock the car and come in with her, for Clare was a hospitable soul and it was lunch time. To her surprise Ruth found Clare in tears.
“What is the matter, my dear girl?” cried Ruth, as Clare fled sobbing to her arms the moment she saw the girl of the Red Mill. “What can have happened to you?”
“Everything!” exploded the Kansas girl. “You can’t imagine! I’ve all but been arrested, and the Head called me down dreadfully, and Madame——”
“Madame Mantel?” Ruth asked sharply. “Is she the cause of your troubles? I should have warned you——”
“Oh, the poor dear!” groaned Clare. “She feels as bad about it as I do. Why, they took her to the police station, too!”
“You seem to have all been having a fine time,” Ruth said, rather tartly. “Tell me all about it. But ask us to sit down, and do give us a cup of tea. This is Henriette Dupay, Clare, and a very nice girl she is. Try to be cordial—hold up the reputation of America, my dear.”
“How-do?” gulped Clare, giving the French girl her hand. “I am glad Ruth brought you. But it was only yesterday——”
“What was only yesterday?” asked Ruth, as the hostess began to set out the tea things.
“Oh, Ruth! Haven’t you heard something about the awful thing that happened here? That Professor Perry——”