But she remembered. She must have remembered, for she did not go near the Burton homestead for a week. Neither did the next week nor the next see her there. Furthermore, though the little stand in her room had shown two new picture puzzles and a new game especially designed for the blind, it displayed them no longer after those remarks of Mazie Sanborn's. Not that Keith had them, however. Indeed, no. They were buried deep under a pile of clothing in the farther corner of Dorothy's bottom bureau drawer.
At the Burton homestead Susan wondered a little at her absence. She even said to Keith one day:
"Why, where's Dorothy? We haven't see her for two weeks."
"I don't know, I'm sure."
The way Keith's lips came together over the last word caused Susan to throw a keen glance into his face.
"Now, Keith, I hope you two haven't been quarreling again," she frowned anxiously.
"'Again'! Nonsense, Susan, we never did quarrel. Don't be silly." The youth shifted his position uneasily.
"I'm thinkin' tain't always me that's silly," observed Susan, with another keen glance. "That girl was gettin' so she come over jest natural-like again, every little while, bringin' in one thing or another, if 'twas nothin' more'n a funny story to make us laugh. An' what I want to know is why she stopped right off short like this, for—"
"Nonsense!" tossed Keith again, with a lift of his chin. Then, with an attempt at lightness that was very near a failure, he laughed: "I reckon we don't want her to come if she doesn't want to, do we, Susan?"
"Humph!" was Susan's only comment—outwardly. Inwardly she was vowing to see that young woman and have it out with her, once for all.