“Where he seems to lose his confidence in himself. You’re either unusually modest or unfairly bitter.”
“It’s not that. I hope I’m not a fool.”
Ruth felt half impatient and half compassionate. She understood why he had made no attempt to follow up their acquaintance; but she thought he insisted too much upon the difference between their positions in the social scale.
“I suppose your father learned where I had gone?”
“No; it was Aynsley Clay who told me. My father certainly asked one of the Empress mates what had become of you, but learned only that you had left the ship. You must remember Aynsley, the yachtsman you met on the island.”
“Yes,” said Jimmy incautiously. “My partners and I worked in his mill until a week or two ago. Then we were turned out.”
“Turned out? Why? I can’t imagine Aynsley’s being a hard master.”
“He isn’t. We got on very well. I don’t believe we owe our dismissal to him.”
Ruth started. She was keen-witted and quick to jump to conclusions. Jimmy’s statement bore out certain troublesome suspicions, and she remembered that she had forced Aynsley to speak about him in Clay’s presence. Perhaps she was responsible for his misfortunes; she felt guilty.
“Then whatever you were doing in the North was not a success?” she suggested.