"Of course I know, Bartley," she said at last, "that after this you
won't owe me the least consideration. But we sail on Tuesday. I saw that
interview in the paper yesterday, telling where you were, and I thought
I had to see you. That's all. Good-night; I'm going now." She turned and
her hand closed on the door-knob.
Alexander hurried toward her and took her gently by the arm. "Sit down,
Hilda; you're wet through. Let me take off your coat--and your boots;
they're oozing water." He knelt down and began to unlace her shoes,
while Hilda shrank into the chair. "Here, put your feet on this stool.
You don't mean to say you walked down--and without overshoes!"
Hilda hid her face in her hands. "I was afraid to take a cab. Can't you
see, Bartley, that I'm terribly frightened? I've been through this a
hundred times to-day. Don't be any more angry than you can help. I was
all right until I knew you were in town. If you'd sent me a note, or
telephoned me, or anything! But you won't let me write to you, and I had
to see you after that letter, that terrible letter you wrote me when you
got home."
Alexander faced her, resting his arm on the mantel behind him, and began
to brush the sleeve of his jacket. "Is this the way you mean to answer
it, Hilda?" he asked unsteadily.
She was afraid to look up at him. "Didn't--didn't you mean even to say
goodby to me, Bartley? Did you mean just to--quit me?" she asked. "I
came to tell you that I'm willing to do as you asked me. But it's no use
talking about that now. Give me my things, please." She put her hand out
toward the fender.
Alexander sat down on the arm of her chair. "Did you think I had
forgotten you were in town, Hilda? Do you think I kept away by accident?
Did you suppose I didn't know you were sailing on Tuesday? There is a
letter for you there, in my desk drawer. It was to have reached you on
the steamer. I was all the morning writing it. I told myself that if I
were really thinking of you, and not of myself, a letter would be better
than nothing. Marks on paper mean something to you." He paused. "They
never did to me."
Hilda smiled up at him beautifully and put her hand on his sleeve. "Oh,
Bartley! Did you write to me? Why didn't you telephone me to let me know
that you had? Then I wouldn't have come."