"No," he said, half to himself, "not—yet."
Elaine had returned home.
Alone, her thoughts naturally went back to what had happened recently to interrupt a friendship which had been the sweetest in her life.
"There MUST be some mistake," she murmured pensively to herself, thinking of the photograph Flirty had given her. "Oh, why did I send him away? Why didn't I believe him?"
Then she thought of what had happened, of how she had been seized by Dan the Dude in the deserted house, of how the noxious gas had overcome her.
They had told her of how Craig had risked his life to save her, how she had been brought home, still only half alive, after his almost miraculous work with the new electric machine.
There was his picture. She had not taken that away. As she looked at it, a wave of feeling came over her. Mechanically, she put out her hand to the telephone.
She was about to take off the receiver, when something seemed to stay her hand. She wanted him to come to her.
And, if either of them had called the other just then, they would have probably crossed wires.
Of such stuff are the quarrels of lovers.