Later he asked, "Did you speak with Horace of the matter that worried you, Ann?"
Miss Shellington sighed.
"Not in a personal way," she replied; "but I really think there is more than either you or I know. Fledra never puts herself in Horace's way any more; in fact, they have both changed very much."
"Possibly he has told her that he cares for her, and she has—"
Ann shifted from him uneasily. "If Horace loves her, and has told her so, she could not help but love him in return. She is really growing thin with hard work, poor baby!"
"Does she love Horace?" sounded Everett.
"I can't tell, although I have watched her very closely."
A strange grip caught Everett's heart. He could not think of the small, dark girl without a pang of emotion. He had made no effort to see Fledra; yet he was constantly wishing that chance would throw her in his path. Later, he intended in some way to bring about another interview. He dared not write her a letter, although he had gone so far as to begin one to her, but in disgust at himself had torn it up. The fact that Horace was unhappy pleased him, now that they had become antagonistic.
The mystery clinging to Fledra haloed her for Everett beyond the point of interest.
"Ann," he said suddenly, "you haven't told me much about those children—I mean of their past lives."