“Promised whom?”
“You.”
“You forget that I did not see you the day you left, and that you did not even bid me good-by.”
“I referred to your French exercises in a brief and hurried note that I left for you.”
“Left where? I never received—never heard of it.”
“I laid it upon your plate, where I supposed you would certainty notice it when you came home to dinner.”
“Why did not you give it to Miss Jane?”
“Simply because she was not in the room when I wrote it. It is rather surprising that it escaped your observation, as I laid it in a conspicuous place.”
She did not deem it necessary to inform him that on that unlucky day she had suddenly lost her appetite, and failed to go to the table; and now she put her fingers over her eyes to conceal the blaze of joyful light that irradiated them, as he mentioned the circumstance, comparatively trivial, but precious in her estimation, since it was freighted with the assurance that at least he had thought of her on the eve of his unexpected departure. What inexpressible comfort that note might have contributed during all those tedious months of silence and separation! While she sat there thinking of the dreary afternoon when, down in the orchard-grass she lay upon her face, Dr. Grey came nearer to her, and said,—