The lady was Frances.
She entered the room and I rose to greet her.
“Why, you are alone!” she exclaimed. “Where is Miss Cahoon?”
“She is out, on a shopping expedition,” I explained. “She will be back soon. I have been out too. We have been driving together. What do you think of that!”
She seemed pleased at the news but when I urged her to sit and wait for Hephzy's return she hesitated. Her hesitation, however, was only momentary. She took the chair by the window and we chatted together, of my newly-gained strength, of Hephzy's adventures as a pathfinder in Paris, of the weather, of a dozen inconsequential things. I found it difficult to sustain my part in the conversation. There was so much of real importance which I wanted to say. I wanted to ask her about herself, where she lodged, if she was still singing at L'Abbaye, what her plans for the future might be. And I did not dare.
My remarks became more and more disjointed and she, too, seemed uneasy and absent-minded. At length there was an interval of silence. She broke that silence.
“I suppose,” she said, “you will be going back to Mayberry soon.”
“Back to Mayberry?” I repeated.
“Yes. You and Miss Cahoon will go back there, of course, now that you are strong enough to travel. She told me that the American friends with whom you and she were to visit Switzerland had changed their plans and were going on to Italy. She said that she had written them that your proposed Continental trip was abandoned.”
“Yes. Yes, that was given up, of course.”