"I'm going to keep Mrs. Sprockett company until she can rest," Mrs. Gallant explained.
John watched them cross the street and saw the door close behind them. Soon the whistling ceased and Sprockett and the baby went inside.
For half an hour John lolled on the porch, pondering over Alma's disappearance, the abjectedness of Mrs. Sprockett's husband and the spectacle of Mrs. Sprockett's wilfulness. Had Mr. and Mrs. Sprockett ever, ever been deeply in love, exulting in the happiness before them in married life? How miserable it was that Sprockett had to whisper to him "not to tell," exactly as Alma had?
He found his thoughts distressful and was about to rise, planning an hour with his books before going to sleep, when an automobile—he knew by the outline it was a taxicab—stopped before the house. The driver opened the door and a figure stepped out, hurrying up toward him.
As he came to his feet he saw that it was a girl who was approaching him.
"Mr. Gallant?" a familiar voice asked.
"Yes."
The figure came closer to him and he saw that it was Consuello's friend and companion, Betty.