“No,” he said, his voice sounding a solemn note, and repeated: “No, I do not. I do not know where he is now.”
His eyes returned to her face and as he met her startled expression he exclaimed in a kindly way, leaning forward as if to reassure her: “There! I’ve frightened you! Please don’t be alarmed. I assure you, there’s nothing to be anxious about. Although I don’t know positively where Felix is, just now, I do know he has suffered no harm, no real harm, and I believe, I am quite sure, he will be back here again as well as ever, before very long. I came here to tell you this.”
She studied his face for a moment and somehow, against her will, the conviction came upon her that this man was moved, as he declared, by good motives.
“It was kind of you,” she replied at last with a gracious smile, “and I thank you very much. I was quite anxious, but I believe what you have told me and I am greatly relieved.”
He looked pleased and exclaimed impulsively: “And I thank you for your confidence in me!”
As he rose to go, his glance once more traveled quickly down over her face and figure and returned to her eyes with a look in his own that her woman’s instinct knew to mean appreciation, interest, liking.
“By the way,” he said, turning impulsively toward her and speaking in a quick, brusque way, “there is another matter I must not forget. It was part of my reason for coming here. There was a letter—you remember—that Felix had you write the last day he was here and then asked you not to send just then. You haven’t mailed it yet, have you?”
She stared at him in astonishment and said “No,” before she could take counsel of her caution.
“I didn’t suppose you had. However, I happen to know, he told me, that he would like you to send it at once, just as it stands now.”