How had Sally Winthrop known that he was hungry? She had known, and had shared with him what she had.
Then incident after incident in the office came back to him. It was she who had taught him how to work. It was for her that he had worked.
Frances had used another phrase: “She’d be almost glad you had no money.”
There was only one woman in the world he knew who would care for a man like that––if she cared at all. That brought him to his feet again. He glared about as if searching for her in the dark. Why wasn’t she here now, so that he might ask her if she did care? She had no business to go off and leave him like this! He did not know where she was.
Don struck a match and looked at his watch. It was eight-thirty. Somehow, he must find her. He had her old address, and it was possible that she had left word where she had gone. At any rate, this was the only clue he had.
He made his way back to the Avenue, and, at a pace that at times almost broke into a run, went toward the club and the first taxi he saw. In twenty minutes he was standing on the steps where he had last seen her. She had wished him to say “good-bye”; but he remembered that he had refused to say “good-bye.”
The landlady knew Miss Winthrop’s address, but she was not inclined to give it to him. At first she did not like the expression in his eyes. He was too eager.
“Seems to me,” she argued, “she’d have 257 told parties where she was going if she wanted them to know.”
“This is very important,” he insisted.