A week passed away—a week of terrible anxiety. Every paper teemed with details of the great bank failure, and harrowing stories of the force with which the blow would fall upon the unhappy shareholders.
During the week Marston called once or twice, but Gurth never came near.
Marston heard from Ruth what had happened, but refrained from mentioning it in the presence of Mrs. Adrian, and he had no opportunity of seeing the old gentleman alone.
Mr. Adrian noticed the fact that Gurth, who had once been a constant visitor, now never came near the place.
He imagined that his connection with the collapsed bank was known, and that the wealthy Mr. Egerton, whose attentions to Ruth had been once so marked, was afraid to continue the acquaintance, lest he might be asked for assistance.
It stung the old man’s pride to think that perhaps some such idea was in the mind of Ruth’s admirer.
He felt really grateful to Marston, whose conduct was in striking contrast to that of his rival.
From looking forward to his visits, and finding relief in his company, he began to regard him as a friend in need. He longed for some one to whom he could unburden himself about the terrible calamity which had come upon him, some one whose advice he could ask, and whose assistance he could claim.
One evening Marston and he were left alone. Mrs. Adrian was not very well, and Ruth had gone upstairs to see if she wanted for anything.
Mrs. Adrian, out of sorts generally, wanted a great many things, but most of all she needed some one to grumble at, and when she got Ruth upstairs she was loth to let her go while there was a fault to be found or a lament to be uttered.