Mrs. Prosser fell into the trap. It seemed natural enough to her that Ruth should want a little gaiety, and she was glad to have a pretty girl in her house. The presence of beauty would attract a good many men and, being not averse to an occasional flirtation herself. Mrs. Prosser judged that she would share in the pleasure to be derived from the visit. So the desired invitation was promptly despatched, and Mr. Cass, quite unsuspicious, permitted his daughter's acceptance of it.
"Perhaps it will put this nonsense about Webster out of your head," he said as he bade her good-bye. To which remark he received no answer.
For quite a week Ruth enjoyed herself thoroughly. Mrs. Prosser's house was a bright one. She entertained a great deal, more especially now that she had such a charming friend to amuse and to amuse her. That young lady made amends for Neil's desertion of her, and for Geoffrey's absence, by flirting to her heart's content, and consigning many youths to various stages of despair at what they were pleased to call her fickleness. But she never lost sight of her main object, which was to drop down on Mrs. Jent without giving that old lady warning of her coming. She would take her entirely by surprise.
Accordingly, on the plea that she was going to see her old nurse, Ruth took the train to _Bognor_, and Mrs. Jent welcomed her visitor with open arms. Nor indeed--not having been warned--did she conceal the fact that Mr. Webster was ill in the house and that Geoffrey was nursing him.
"My dear, how pleased I am to see you!" she cried, settling her spectacles on her nose. "And quite the young lady, too! How good of you, my lovey, not to forget your old nurse."
"As if I ever could," Ruth said, graciously. "And tell me what you are doing with yourself?"
"Just living, my dear, just living. What with a boarder or two and the money your dear papa allows me I rub along."
"Have you any boarders now?" asked the girl, more for the sake of saying something than because she felt any interest in the subject.
"Well, not what you would call boarders, perhaps," said the old lady, rubbing one withered hand over the other. "At least, one of them isn't, he is my dear boy Neil."
"Neil!" with unbounded astonishment, "Neil Webster! Why, he is abroad."