And it was from Rodney to her!
She couldn't see him if he felt like that; couldn't stand it to see him
if he felt like that! Bitterness, contempt, hatred, anything would be
easier to bear than that. She was to call up his hotel, was she? Well,
she wouldn't!
And then suddenly she spread the note open again and read it once more.
Turned it over and scrutinized the reverse side of the paper, and
uttered a little sobbing laugh. If he'd been as cool, unmoved,
self-possessed, as that note had tried to sound, would he have forgotten
to tell her at what hotel she was to call him up?
Then, with a gasp, she wondered how she _could_ call him up. He'd think
she knew where he was; he'd wait; and after he'd waited a while, in
default of word from her, wouldn't he take her silence for an answer and
go back to Chicago?
She clenched her hands at that and tried to think. Well, the obvious
thing to do seemed to be the only one. She must try one hotel after
another until she found him. After all, there probably weren't more than
a dozen to choose among.
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