"And isn't it strange," said the anxious mother, "that she doesn't say a word of Mr. Reginald?"
"Yes, it is strange." But in his heart he did not think so. He believed he knew why the name was not mentioned.
"What is your letter about, Dick?"
He opened it, read it hurriedly, and did not betray the agitation it caused him. "A private letter, aunt, from an old friend. Has Uncle Bob got another day's leave of absence from the office?"
"No; he must go back to his duty to-night. He wanted to see you badly, but he couldn't stop at home, he's that restless. I wish you'd have a talk with him."
"I'll manage it. If I don't catch him here, I'll drop in at the station."
He was itching to read his letter more carefully, but he would not arouse her suspicions by running away too suddenly, so he remained with her a few minutes longer, and then, saying he would see her again in the course of the day, took his leave.
"Are you going anywhere particular, Dick?" she asked, accompanying him to the door.
"I am going to look for Florence," he replied, kissing her. "It will be hard if we don't soon get some good news. Keep up your heart, dear aunt."
He did not take the letter from his pocket till he was in a quiet street.