“She—she is, Pa,” Maybelle was almost whimpering. “I’ve just been in there. Everything she’s got is packed up.”
Then she was down the stairs in a rush, her arms around Hilda’s neck, whispering,
“Don’t. Don’t give me away. Oh—Hilda! It won’t make any difference to you. You don’t want to stay here, anyhow. But—”
Hilda pushed her off and turned to Colonel Marchbanks. Of course, Maybelle’s things were packed, too; under that kimono Maybelle was dressed, ready to have gone with that man.
“What Maybelle says is true,” she told them all, “I’m going to leave in the morning.”
“You’ll leave for Lame Jones County in the morning,” the colonel growled.
“Certainly. That’s what I mean,” Hilda agreed.
“Fayte, go dress,” said his father; “I want you to ride in to the station and send a telegram to Pearsall. The rest of you get upstairs to bed.”
CHAPTER XXX
THE RETURN
It was strange to Hilda to be going home to Lame Jones County by railroad. Not once before, since that journey from New York that brought the Van Brunts to Texas, had she traveled on a train. The thought flitted vaguely through her mind—why she’d hardly know how to act—what to do.