"No such thing. He is here, my lovey, and has been for two months. Abroad? Why, the poor darling has been at death's door! Aye, and he would have entered it, too, if Mr. Heron had not----"
"Heron? Geoffrey Heron?"
"Yes, dear, that is him, Heaven bless him. Do you----"
"Geoffrey Heron here?" interrupted the girl rather to herself than to the old woman. "Why, he wrote to tell me that he was on the Continent. What does all this mean, I wonder?"
"It's not hard to tell the meaning," said Mrs. Jent. "My boy Neil fell ill, had brain fever, poor lad, and Mr. Heron brought him here from London that I might nurse him, and he stayed with me. He is almost as fond of my dear boy as I am."
"Is he?" said Ruth, blankly. Considering that the two men were, or had been, rivals for her hand, she could not quite take all this in.
"Of course he is," said the old woman, with great energy. "A better gentleman I never wish to see."
"And is Mr. Webster here?"
"In the next room, in the most beautiful sleep. I daresay you would like to see him, my dear, for he has often talked of you. But I daren't wake him, it would be dangerous. Mr. Heron has gone to Worthing. Will you wait till he comes back?"
"I might," replied Ruth, thinking that she would like to prove to Heron that she was no fool. "Has he also spoken of me?"