She dusted her shoes with a bit of
rag, regarded herself steadily in the wavering mirror, and
went in.
The two men were talking quietly. Albert Edward was moving
deftly from stove to table. They both looked up as she came
in, and she looked at Heyl. Their eyes held.
Albert Edward was as sporting a gentleman as the late dear
king whose name he bore. He went out to tend Heyl's horse,
he said. It was little he knew of horses, and he rather
feared them, as does a sailing man. But he went,
nevertheless.
Heyl still looked at Fanny, and Fanny at him.
"It's absurd," said Fanny. "It's the kind of thing that
doesn't happen."
"It's simple enough, really," he answered. "I saw Ella
Monahan in Chicago, and she told me all she knew, and
something of what she had guessed. I waited a few days and
came back. I had to." He smiled. "A pretty job you've
made of trying to be selfish."
At that she smiled, too, pitifully enough, for her lower lip
trembled. She caught it between her teeth in a last sharp
effort at self-control.
Pages:
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528