At the
thought of trust so sacred, his face had whitened, and in his heart
unconscious prayer had sprung.
That was yesterday. This afternoon he had stopped at his sister's
home for tea, as he had done for days past now, and, Dorothea being
sick, he had gone up to see her and give her the book bought for her.
As usual, she had much to say, and he let her talk uninterruptedly.
It was of Claudia that she talked, always of Claudia, and he had
listened in a silence that gave chance for much detail.
"She gets more letters!" Dorothea's hands came together as if very
full. "Every day there is one from the same person, sometimes two,
and specials and telegrams; and sometimes he talks over the
telephone. I know his handwriting now. She lets me come in her room
whenever I want to. I don't see how one person could have so much to
say. I knew he must be her sweetheart, and I asked mother, and
mother says she's engaged to a, man in Washington. Miss Robin French
told her. Mother thinks it's real strange Claudia didn't tell her."
And he had answered nothing, but had gone down the steps and out of
the house, and to no one said good night.
XI
A CHANCE ENCOUNTER
Claudia glanced at the clock. She must be dressed by seven.
Hurriedly she put aside the letters which could wait, and began to
write.
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