"I thought you might wonder why
you did not hear from me. But, you see, my mother--" she stopped
and flushed. "I would have written you from Bermuda, but--my mother
watched my correspondence, so I could not."
No. I knew she could not. Alma had once found a letter of mine to Mr.
Pitman. Very little escaped Alma.
"I wondered if you have heard anything?" she asked.
"I have heard nothing. Mr. Howell was here once, just after I saw you.
I do not believe he is in the city.
"Perhaps not, although--Mrs. Pitman, I believe he is in the city,
hiding!"
"Hiding! Why?"
"I don't know. But last night I thought I saw him below my window. I
opened the window, so if it were he, he could make some sign. But he
moved on without a word. Later, whoever it was came back. I put out my
light and watched. Some one stood there, in the shadow, until after
two this morning. Part of the time he was looking up."
"Don't you think, had it been he, he would have spoken when he saw
you?"
She shook her head. "He is in trouble," she said. "He has not heard
from me, and he--thinks I don't care any more.
Pages:
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133