She stopped short.
“You suppose what?” I asked.
“Oh, nothin'.”
She had said enough. I could guess the rest. I walked to the window and stood, looking out. The clouds were breaking and, as I stood there, a ray of sunlight streamed through a rift and struck the bay just at the spot where the dingy had grounded. The shallow water above the flat flashed into fire. I am not superstitious, as a general thing, but the sight comforted me. It seemed like an omen. There was the one bright spot in the outlook. There, at least, I had not behaved like a “fool Rube.” There I had compelled respect and been taken seriously.
Dorinda spoke again.
“You ain't asked who your other caller was,” she observed.
“Was there another?”
“Um-hm. I told you there was two. After Cap'n Jed left that chauffeur feller from the big house come here. He fetched a note for you. Here 'tis.”
I took the note. It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting, not that of “Big Jim” Colton. I opened the envelope and read:
Roscoe Paine.