"Does Mazie know about you?" interrupted Susan. "I mean, about your being 'Miss Stewart'?"
"A little, but not much. I told her once that he 'most always called me 'Miss Stewart,' but I never made anything of it, and I never told her how much I saw of him out home. Some way, I—" She stopped short, with a quick indrawing of her breath. In the doorway down the hall stood Keith.
"Susan, I thought I heard—WAS Miss Stewart here?" he demanded excitedly.
With only the briefest of hesitations and a half-despairing, half-relieved look into Susan's startled eyes, the young girl hurried forward.
"Indeed I'm here," she cried gayly, giving a warm clasp to his eagerly outstretched hand "How do you do? Susan was just saying—."
But Susan was gone with upflung hands and a look that said "No, you don't rake me into this thing, young lady!" as plainly as if she had spoken the words themselves.
In the living-room a minute later, Keith began eager questioning.
"When did you come?"
"Yesterday."
"And you came to see me the very next day! Weren't you good? You knew how I wanted to see you."