“Impossible,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Then, will you come and see me?” She thought for a moment. “Why have you never been to see me? Didn’t you know I was still in the city?”
“Oh, yes,” he replied. “I used to see your name in the papers, often. And I have followed your career with great interest. But––you moved in a circle––from which I––well, it was hardly possible for me to come to see you, you know––”
“It was!” exclaimed the girl. “But, never mind, you are coming now. Here,” drawing a card from her bag, “this is the address of Madam Beaubien. Will you come there to-morrow afternoon, at two, and talk with me?”
He looked at the card which she thrust into his hand, and then at the richly-gowned girl before him. He seemed to be in a dream. But he nodded his head slowly.
“Tell me,” she whispered, “how is Sister Katie?”
Ah, if the girl could have known how that great-hearted old soul had mourned her “little bairn” these many months.
“I will go to see her,” said Carmen. “But first you will come to me to-morrow.” She beamed upon him as she clasped his hands again. Then she entered the car, and sat waving her hand back at him as long as he could see her.
It would be difficult to say which of the two, Miss Wall or Father Waite, was the more startled by this abrupt and lively rencontre. But to Carmen, as she sat back in the car absorbed in thought, it had been a perfectly natural meeting between two warm friends. Suddenly the girl turned to the woman. “You haven’t anything but money, and fine clothes, and automobiles, and jewels, you think. And you want something better. Do you know? I know what it is you want.”