"What an abstracted man he is!" she said before he was down the front
steps.
"Is he really so clever in business?" a woman friend inquired.
"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" commented a third, and his host
apologised for the absent Alfred by saying that he was no doubt worried
about a particular business decision that had to be made the next
morning.
But it was not the responsibility of this business decision that was
knotting Alfred's brow, as he walked hurriedly toward the hotel, where
he had told his office boy to leave the last mail. This had been
the longest interval that Zoie had ever let slip without writing. He
recalled that her last letters had hinted at a "slight indisposition."
In fact, she had even mentioned "seeing the doctor"--"Good Heavens!" he
thought, "Suppose she were really ill? Who would look after her?"
When Alfred reached his rooms, the boy had not yet arrived. He crossed
to the library table and took from the drawer all the letters thus far
received from Zoie. He read them consecutively. "How could he have been
so stupid as not to have realised sooner that her illness--whatever it
was--had been gradually creeping upon her from the very first day of his
departure?"
The boy arrived with the mail. It contained no letter from Zoie and
Alfred went to bed with an uneasy mind.
The next morning he was down at his office early, still no letter from
Zoie.
Refusing his partner's invitation to lunch, Alfred sat alone in his
office, glad to be rid of intrusive eyes. "He would write to Jimmy
Jinks," he decided, "and find out whether Zoie were in any immediate
danger."
Not willing to await the return of his stenographer, or to acquaint her
with his personal affairs, Alfred drew pen and paper toward him and sat
helplessly before it. How could he inquire about Zoie without appearing
to invite a reconciliation with her? While he was trying to answer
this vexed question, a sharp knock came at the door. He turned to see a
uniformed messenger holding a telegram toward him. Intuitively he felt
that it contained some word about Zoie. His hand trembled so that he
could scarcely sign for the message before opening it.
A moment later the messenger boy was startled out of his lethargy by a
succession of contradictory exclamations.
"No!" cried Alfred incredulously as he gazed in ecstasy at the telegram.
"Yes!" he shouted, excitedly, as he rose from his chair. "Where's a
time table?" he asked the astonished boy, and he began rummaging rapidly
through the drawers of his desk.