And when
she'd unlocked and opened it she stooped and picked them up, a visiting
card and a folded bit of paper. She turned the card over and gave a
little half-suffocated cry.
It was Rodney's card and on it he'd written, "Sorry to have missed you.
I'll come back at eight."
Her shaking fingers fumbled pitifully over the folds of the note, but
she got it open at last. It was from him too. It read:
"DEAR ROSE:
"This is hard luck. I suppose you're off for a week-end somewhere. I
want very much to see you. When you come back and have leisure for
me, will you call me up? I know how busy you are so I'll wait until
I hear from you.
"RODNEY."
Her heart felt like lead when she'd read it. Dazedly, a little giddily,
she pulled her door shut, went into her room and sat down.
He was in New York! He'd been to see her this afternoon--and left a
card! And the note he'd written after his second visit was what Howard
West might have written, or any other quite casual, slightly over-polite
acquaintance.
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