"I am glad to see you," she said to me at length, awkwardly.
"And I to see you, of course." I misdoubt we both lied.
"It is very sad, your home-coming thus," she added; at which clue I caught gladly.
"Yes, matters could hardly be worse for us."
"Your mother would not come to us. We asked her. We feel deeply mortified. But now—we hope you both will come."
"We are beggars now, Miss Grace," I said. "I need time to look around, to hit upon some plan of life. I must make another home for myself, and for—"
"For me?" She faced me squarely now, eye to eye. A smile was on her lips, and it seemed to me a bitter one, but I could not guess what was hidden in her mind. I saw her cheek flush slowly, deeper than was usual with a Sheraton girl.
"For my wife, as soon as that may be," I answered, as red as she.
"I learn that you did not see Colonel Meriwether," she went on politely.
"How did you know it?"