“Oh, Harold, I’m awfully glad to see you. How did you ever happen to be up here?”
“I’ve been visiting a chum in New York, and as I drove near, I thought of you and wondered whether I couldn’t look you up as I passed. Why, here’s Hadley, too! And Wilkinson! Is your sister here, Jack?”
Before the latter could reply, Ruth introduced the stranger to the rest of the party, and then hastened to tell the story about Marjorie and Frieda.
“I’m going to look for her!” cried Harold immediately, his voice filled with indignation. “I bet the old fellow was an escaped nut. Any asylums around here, Mr. Andrews?”
“I don’t know—we’re strangers here, too. But there is nothing you can do now, my boy. Our boys are going out again tomorrow, and if they do not have any success, we can get in touch with Mr. Wilkinson by evening. But won’t you join our party? I’m sure Mrs. Andrews joins me in extending you a hearty invitation. There’s a dance at the club house tonight.”
“How jolly!” exclaimed Harold. “I’d love to, Mr. Andrews, at least, if—well—it’s up to Ruth.” Then, turning to her, he asked, “May I go with you? If not, I guess I’d better be on my way.”
“Yes, indeed; if you have evening clothes,” replied the girl.
“Of course I have; didn’t I tell you I’d been visiting in New York?”
Ruth felt as if she had never been so glad in her life to see anyone as she was to see Harold. It was not only a relief to have a devoted attendant, but it afforded her a release from her own gloomy thoughts. For already the escapade was beginning to depress her. She really had never thought of the effect Marjorie’s absence would cast upon the other guests; all she had thought of was the girl’s own annoyance at the delay, and that reflection brought her nothing but satisfaction. Marjorie had been too popular lately; she was having things her own way entirely too much. It was not good for any one girl to receive so much attention, Ruth thought; for the sake of the others in the troop, as well as for herself, she had regarded her prank as veritably charitable. But now she was almost beginning to regret it. For she knew that when the girl did finally appear, she would be the petted heroine of the party even though Ruth herself might win the cup. And who knew? Mr. Andrews might even suggest that the winner compete with Marjorie and Frieda! It was a strange thing that Ruth Henry had not learned by this time that her underhand scheming never got her anywheres. But each time she seemed to forget, and tried her mean practices all over again.
She could hardly wait to be alone with Harold, to talk the thing over from beginning to end. Fortunately, the others went earlier, while she waited for him to dress.