“Yes; that was my reason for asking you to see me.” Sophy spoke simply, without constraint or hesitation.
“I thought he’d promised you—” Anna interposed.
“He did; but he broke his promise. That’s what I thought I ought to tell you.”
“Thank you.” Anna went on tentatively: “He left Givre this morning without a word. I followed him because I was afraid...”
She broke off again and the girl took up her phrase. “You were afraid he’d guessed? He has...”
“What do you mean—guessed what?”
“That you know something he doesn’t ... something that made you glad to have me go.”
“Oh—” Anna moaned. If she had wanted more pain she had it now. “He’s told you this?” she faltered.
“He hasn’t told me, because I haven’t seen him. I kept him off—I made Mrs. Farlow get rid of him. But he’s written me what he came to say; and that was it.”
“Oh, poor Owen!” broke from Anna. Through all the intricacies of her suffering she felt the separate pang of his.