“Yes, sir; I don’t have any complaints to make. Everything was nicer than it had been since the fall before.”
“What changed your relations?”
Mrs. Platz, the painful flush mounting once more, fixed her eyes resolutely on the little patch of floor between her and Mr. Lambert.
“It was that——”
“Just a little louder, please. We all want to hear you, you know.”
“It was that waitress of Mrs. Ives’. She sent for him to come back.”
“How do you know that?”
“Well, I’ll tell you how I know it.” Mrs. Platz leaned forward confidentially. It was good, said her quick, eager voice—after all these weary months of silence, it was good to find a friend to listen to this ugly story. “This was the way: Sunday evening came around and he hadn’t never turned up at all.”
“Sunday of what date?”
“Sunday, June twentieth, sir. I didn’t know what in the world to make of it, but Tuesday morning, what do I get but a letter from Dolph saying that——”