It was late in the day that he met young Sir Walter, who ran to him, open-mouthed with news. Walter was afraid that the news would be unpalatable, and could not understand such want of tact in Semingham. To ask Tom Loring while Ruston was there argued a bluntness of perception strange to young Sir Walter. But, be the news good or bad, he had only to report; and report it he did straightway to his chief. Willie Ruston smiled, and said that, if Loring did not mind meeting him, he did not mind meeting Loring; indeed, he would welcome the opportunity of proving to that unbeliever that there was water somewhere within a hundred miles of Fort Imperial (which Tom in one of those articles had sturdily denied). Then he flirted away a stone with his stick and asked if anyone had yet told Mrs. Dennison. And, Sir Walter thinking not, he said,
"Oh, well, I'm going there. I'll tell her."
"She'll know why he's coming," said Walter, nodding his head wisely.
"Will she? Do you know?" asked Ruston with a smile—young Sir Walter's wisdom was always sure of that tribute from him.
"If you'd seen Adela Ferrars, you'd know too. She tries to make believe it's nothing, but she's—oh, she's——"
"Well?"
"She's all of a flutter," laughed Walter.
"You've got to the bottom of that," said Ruston in a tone of conviction.
"Still, I think it's inconsiderate of Loring; he must know that Mrs. Dennison will find it rather awkward. But, of course, if a fellow's in love, he won't think of that."
"I suppose not," said Willie Ruston, smiling again at this fine scorn.