“Well, I forgot all about it—I’m living in such a rush, and you will understand, I’m sure, since you are in a rush yourself as a senior.”
“Of course, Marcella.” Betty was cordial. She could forgive anything. Larry had written.
“So I didn’t even answer his letter—he waits for ages sometimes; and I supposed if he’d written to you, you’d gotten the letter and answered it, if it called for an answer.”
“No, I have not heard from Larry at all, Marcella.”
“Yes? It dawned on me, Betty, after I received a special delivery letter this afternoon. I’m going down town for dinner with some girls and I’ll stop with his letter. I’m sending him a special delivery letter and I’ll put in, shall I—that you haven’t received a word from him?”
“Certainly, Marcella,” replied Betty, wondering what Larry had written.
“The letter will give you the facts, Betty. I’m writing an abject apology, but reminding him of certain delays on his side. If I’d had any idea that—well—see you later. ’Bye.”
About four o’clock, just as Betty was feeling that she could not wait any longer, a car stopped in front of the house and Marcella flew up the walk to the steps, where Betty met her with smiles. “I thought you would be in a hurry, Marcella. Thank you so much for bringing this. I did wonder not to have heard, since Larry spoke of writing.”
Marcella gave her a meaning glance. “Well, for my sake, be nice to Larry, when you do hear from him, and answer!”
“I will,” promised Betty. It was just as well, she thought, that Marcella would never know the heart-aches she had had over the missing letter. What could have become of it? And why hadn’t Larry written again? No, he would think she didn’t care.