He removed the little folded paper from the envelope and read it aloud:
“DEAR JO: Here is your heart-ease. Don’t let doubt kill your love. Just take Marta. A woman loves an audacious lover.
“Yours,
“PENNY ANTE.”
“I feel sort of crazy. Gee, Marta, but it’s great to be crazy! Let’s sit down here and talk about it. You don’t need to tell me much. She told me. Why didn’t you let me hear from you?”
“I wanted to be sure, Jo. I’m not going to make excuses for myself, but I had it handed to me hard. Whenever I thought I’d like to be like other folks, some one would give me a shoveback, and then I felt cornered and that it was no use. Sometimes—most always—I was down and out. Then I’d hit a little lucky wave and go up. It was one of those times I saw you in that dance hall.”
“That was my lucky wave. I can see you now as you sat away from the rest—so little and so different-looking from those tough ones.”
“And I can see you—alone, by yourself; you looked different from anyone I’d ever seen, so healthy and jolly and kind. I saw you looking at me and knew right off what you thought—that I was straight and had got in the wrong place by mistake. And I let you think so and let you get to know me. And we danced and talked till near sunrise. That lovely day over at St. Joe! I thought I was in Heaven until we were in that little park and you asked me to marry you. First time a real man ever asked me that. I wasn’t low enough to fool you then. When you said it made no difference, I knew you were too good for me, and it made me love you so much that I had to run away.”
“It was sure great in you to tell me, Marta.”
“You know how I got help and hope; but I’m not Marta now, Jo. Not any more. I’m Bobbie Burr.”