Heron found Ruth in the winter garden and in tears. She told him, she was the moat miserable girl in the world, and that nobody cared for her; which last statement Mr. Heron was not inclined to hear without venturing to put forward his own claims.
"My darling, girl, how can you say so?" he asked, pressing her closely in his arms. "I love you more than all the world."
"Every man says that when he can think of nothing else to say," replied Ruth, who was too much disturbed to be wholly just. "And if you really loved me, you wouldn't have neglected me so."
"My dear, I was busy. You know what took up my time."
"Yes, I know, and I wish I didn't know! This horrid business has troubled me morn and night. I wonder my hair hasn't turned grey!"
"Nonsense!" cried Geoffrey. "It is as black as ever."
"Black as the outlook of our lives."
Heron could not help a smile at this grandiloquent speech. It was so unlike Ruth to indulge in what the Americans call "tall talk." "Leave the wretched affair alone, dear," he said, kissing her. "You need not trouble your pretty head any more about it."
"But I must," she insisted. "If my suspicions are not set at rest, I shall go mad. And the worst of it is, I have promised my father to tell you nothing. If I could only speak freely to you, it would ease my mind."
"Then ease it and speak freely, Ruth. Oh, you need not shake your head. I know what you are talking about--those sleeve-links."