"I am sorry for you, Laura, but remember—you've got to tell the truth."
"Please go," she cried almost hysterically.
He went out, closing the door behind him.
CHAPTER XVII.
With a sigh of intense relief, Laura sank utterly exhausted into the armchair which Brockton had vacated.
Everything had come so suddenly that the girl's brain was all awhirl. John might arrive any moment. She must decide at once on what was to be done. What could she say to him? How much did she wish to say; how much would he believe? Was it possible that Providence had relented, and that, after all, she was to be truly happy, marry the only man she had ever truly, unselfishly loved, and still have all those luxuries which she could not live without? John was now a rich man. That made all the difference in the world. It would not make her love him any the more, but, as a rich man's wife, as his wife, she knew she would be truly happy. She might have married him, even if he had been unsuccessful and returned to her penniless, but would their happiness have lasted, could their love have survived all the hardships which poverty brings in its train? Of course, she could not tell him about Brockton. He was not the kind of man she dare tell it to. He would never forgive her; he might even kill her. No, she must go on lying to the end, until she was safely married, and then she would turn over a new leaf altogether. While she sat there, her elbows between her knees, her chin on her hands, engrossed in thought, Annie entered and began to dust the room. Laura watched her in moody silence for a few minutes. Then she said:
"Annie!"
"Yassum."
"Do you remember in the boarding-house—when we finally packed up—what you did with everything?"