Mr. Adrian was charmed with his visitor’s frankness, and let him go away assured that, though he would in no way attempt to influence Ruth in her choice of a husband, he should only be too glad if it fell upon so prosperous and agreeable a gentleman as Gurth Egerton. For some little time after Gurth’s departure, Mr. Adrian sat wrapt in thought. It would be a splendid match for Ruth, and he felt it was time she was settled in life. Mrs. Adrian, he knew, would offer no opposition—in fact, over and over again she had urged him to do all in his power to foster such a match. There was nothing in the way of its accomplishment but Rath herself. I wonder,’ said Mr. Adrian, ‘if she has quite got over that old business with Ned Marston! Sometimes I fancy there is a soft spot in her heart for him still.’ Could Mr. Adrian have seen Ruth, as she sat in in her own room that afternoon, he would have had grave doubts as to the success of Gurth Egerton’s wooing. Ruth was amusing herself for a moment or two at her writing-desk, and scribbling, as young ladies will sometimes when their thoughts are wandering, on a piece of blotting-paper. She was writing her name over and over again: ‘Ruth Adrian ‘Ruth Adrian.’ She scribbled it half-a-dozen times, and then her pen, perhaps obedient to her thought, paused at the ‘Ruth’ and wrote a fresh name after it. Ruth blushed a vivid scarlet when she saw what she had done. There, on the blotting-paper in bold relief she had written, in place of her usual signature: ‘Ruth Marston.’ CHAPTER XLI. AN AFTERNOON CALL. Gurth Egerton was delighted at the cordial reception he had received at the hands of Mr. Adrian. He had, at any rate, in that interview ascertained that, so far as Ruth’s parents were concerned, nothing was known of Marston’s pretensions. He was more than ever convinced that it was only braggadocio on that gentleman’s part, and that he had nothing to fear from his old companion. The more he thought of it, the more absurd it seemed to him that he should ever have attached any importance to Marston’s assertion. Ruth certainly was polite to him, and when he had seen them meet they met as old friends. He quite understood that. Years ago, before Marston went wrong, he had been acquainted with the family, and Ruth and he had been sweethearts as boy and girl. But things were very different now. Marston, in spite of his assumption of independence, was only an adventurer. He felt convinced that his respectability was a whited sepulchre, and that there was something very rotten underneath it. But the undoubted fact remained that Marston was now on visiting terms with the Adrians, and that Ruth was not particularly cold to him. It would be safer, at any rate, to clinch the matter at once, and bowl Mr. Edward Marston out before he had a chance of scoring.