“I had nothing to do with it. After you went away, I remembered that I didn’t know your real name, and I was afraid a telegram for ‘Bob White, Esquire,’ left in the servants’ hands, would go wrong. So I didn’t send it. I wondered how you’d get away to meet me, but I knew you would contrive some excuse.”
In his mind’s eye, he saw the address of the telegram, “Thomas Fessenden,” yet it was true that his identity was unknown to his companion—through her own caprice, to be sure.
He gave a long whistle. “Then that wire really was from Danton. By Jove! if he wanted my advice about anything, he ought to have let me know in time. Confound him, it’s too late now! It serves him right.”
He turned to look for sympathy in Betty’s eyes, only to find there a light that baffled him.
“Are you angry with me about anything?”
“I’m not sure whether I am or not. Men are so—so bad, and so presumptuous.”
“Good heavens! Have I done anything?”
But in spite of all he could do to solve this new Betty, she set him down at the foot of the lane a very perplexed young man.
VII
At Sandywood, Fessenden was little surprised to learn that Miss Yarnell had been summoned home to Baltimore—on account of sickness in her family.