"You have no recollection of a certain ball after some theatricals at Stoke Moreton, which you and your sister came to as little girls in pigtails?"
"Of course I remember that. And were you there?"
"Was I there? Oh, the ingratitude of woman! Did not I dance three times with each of you, and suggest chicken at supper instead of lobster salad? Does not the lobster salad awaken memories? Surely you have not forgotten that?"
Ruth began to smile.
"I remember now. So you were the kind man, name unknown, who took such care of Anna and me? How good-natured you were!"
"Thanks! You evidently do remember now, if you say that. I recognized you at once, when I saw you again, by your likeness to your brother Raymond. You were very like him then, but much more so now. How is he?"
Ruth's dark gray eyes shot a sudden surprised glance at him. People had seldom of late inquired after Raymond.
"I believe he is quite well," she replied, in a constrained tone. "I have not heard from him for some time."
"It is some years since I met him," said Charles, noting but ignoring her change of tone. "I used to see a good deal of him before he went to—was it America? I heard from him about three years ago. He was prospecting, I think, at that time."
Ruth remembered that Charles had succeeded his father about three years ago. She remembered also Raymond's capacities for borrowing. A sudden instinct told her what the drift of that letter had been. The blood rushed into her face.