"Yes, ma'am," agreed the maid as she hurried away. A moment later Miss Carrithers fairly bounded into the darkened bed-chamber, her face full of excitement.
"Have you heard?" she gasped, dropping upon the side of the bed. "Harry Green's coming home. He's in New York now. Joe Pierce had a telegram."
"Yes, I know," said Agatha drearily.
"Have you heard from him—you?" demanded Miss Betty in amazement—and some little concern.
"Of course, Betty; why shouldn't I?" irritably.
"Oh, I suppose it's all right," said the other dubiously. "I was only thinking of the—of the old days."
"Betty," said Mrs. Cannable, sitting up suddenly and grasping her friend's hand, "I'm the most wretched creature on earth. I don't know what I'm to do."
"Is it about—about Harry Green?" "Yes. You see, dear, he—he doesn't know I'm married."
"Goodness, Agatha! You don't mean he—he still thinks you are engaged to marry him?"
"That's just it, Betty. I didn't tell him—in fact, I had forgotten all about him, away down there in Patagonia, wherever it is. He—"