Later, when the cobbler and his wife were crooning over their little son, Jinnie, with breaking heart, decided she would leave Bellaire at once, as Molly had asked her. She must never think of Theodore again. She’d renounced him, firmly believing he still loved her; she’d promised to depart without seeing him, but surely, oh, a little farewell note, with the assurances of her gratitude, would not be breaking that promise.
So, until Peggy carried the baby away to bed, the girl composed a letter to Theodore, pathetic in its terseness. She also wrote to Molly, telling her she had decided to go back to Mottville immediately.
When she had finished the letters, she took her usual place on the stool at the cobbler’s feet.
“Lafe,” she ventured, wearily, “some time I’m going to tell you everything that’s happened since I last saw you, but not to-night!”
“Whenever you’re ready, honey,” acquiesced Lafe.
“And I’ve been thinking of something else, dear. I want to go to Mottville.”
Lafe’s face paled.
“I don’t see how Peg an’ me’ll live without you, Jinnie.”
Jinnie touched the hand smoothing her curls.
“I couldn’t live without you either, Lafe, and I won’t try––” 340