“I don’t believe—I won’t believe it,” said Miss Howe.
Then Anita smiled.
“Didn’t I say she was careless about her drafts? I’ve a fragment here—no, I’ve left it in my writing-table——” and she rose as she spoke—“no name, but it’s proof enough. It’s an answer to some man’s letter.”
“But does she definitely consent——?” began the Baxter girl.
“Not in so many words. But it’s obvious there was some cause or impediment, and he, whoever he is, has evidently had qualms of conscience about letting her call the world well lost for his sweet sake.”
“That would rule out Kent, of course,” said Miss Howe thoughtfully. “There was no reason why Kent shouldn’t marry.”
“We know of none,” said Anita in her suggestive voice. “Isn’t that as much as one can say of any man?”
“Ah!” said the Baxter girl, illuminated. I don’t know why—her round eyes, I suppose, and her pursed mouth—but she reminded me of the woodcut of Minerva’s owl in Larousse.
“So you see my prime difficulty. I’ve passed under review every man of her acquaintance, till I narrowed down the possible——”
“Affinities,” said the blonde lady.