“And now, Hosy,” she said, “let me tell you. We aren't goin' to Mayberry—not yet. We're going to Leatherhead.”
“To Leatherhead!” I repeated. “To Leatherhead! To—her? We certainly will do no such thing.”
“Yes, we will, Hosy,” quietly. “I haven't said anything about it before, but I've made up my mind. It's our duty to see her just once more, once more before—before we say good-by for good. It's our duty.”
“Duty! Our duty is to let her alone, to leave her in peace, as she asked us.”
“How do you know she is in peace? Suppose she isn't. Suppose she's miserable and unhappy. Isn't it our duty to find out? I think it is?”
I looked her full in the face. “Hephzy,” I said, sharply, “you know something about her, something that I don't know. What is it?”
“I don't know as I know anything, Hosy. I can't say that I do. But—”
“You saw Herbert Bayliss yesterday. That was the 'errand' you went upon yesterday morning in Paris. Wasn't it?”
She was very much taken aback. She has told me since that she had no idea I suspected the truth.
“Wasn't it?” I repeated.