"Yes!" She finally made him out, but still gazed at him, somewhat frightened. Her face was bloodless.
"Come in," he said kindly. "I'm Granthope. You'll have to excuse this costume." He set a chair for her, but she stood, timidly regarding him.
"I'm awfully afraid I'm bothering you, Mr. Granthope, coming so late—I know I ought to have come in your office hours, but I couldn't possibly get off—and I did want to see you awfully! D'you suppose you could help me a little, now? I thought you might be able to, you said such wonderful things when I was here before, and I just can't stand it not to know, and I don't know what to do."
"Do sit down. Tell me what's the matter, my dear."
She crept into a chair, and sat with nervous hands, staring at him.
"Why, don't you remember?" She gazed at him in alarm. "Oh, I've depended so on what you said—it's all that kept me going!"
"Just pardon me a moment, please." He went to his desk drawer and began to fumble over his card catalogue. "I have a memorandum to make. Then I'll talk to you." He came to the card, and made a penciled note and glanced it over. Then he returned to her and sat down. "Now tell me all about it," he said gravely. "I remember perfectly, of course. Bill was in the Philippines, wasn't he? You hadn't heard from him for some time, and you were expecting him home on the next transport?"
She sat, limply huddled in her chair, gazing at him through her sad eyes.
"He did come back. I couldn't meet the boat. I missed him. And now he's gone!"
"He didn't let you know where he went?"