Hildreth gave me a nudge and a merry look and it pleased me to see she still had her sense of humour left.
That night, as I held her in my arms, "Don't let these little, trivial inconveniences and incidents—the petty persecutions we are undergoing, have any effect on our great love," I pleaded.
"That's all very well, darling Johnnie, but where are we going to?"
"We'll find a cottage somewhere ... a pretty little cottage within our means," I replied, visioning a vine-trellised place such as poets and their brides must live in.
"Our money is giving out ... soon we'll have—to turn back to New York!"
"If we do, that need not part us.... I'll get a job on some newspaper or magazine and take care of you."
When I called for my mail at the Sea Girt post office, sure of hearing from Darrie, anyhow,—who promised us she would keep us posted, I found no letter. And the man at the window was certain he had handed over several letters addressed to me to someone else who had called for them, giving my name as his.
A wave of hot anger suffused my face. How stupid of me not to have noticed it before. Now I remembered the men who had followed us.
Our mail was being intercepted. How was Baxter to procure his divorce without gaining evidence in just such a way?