She had written Helen of her lover’s declaration, and of her happiness. She would find a good excuse for her sorrowful face in their separation. She knew he would write to her, for he had said so, and she had slipped the address into his hand as he left the car that night.
At first she was puzzled to think what she could do about answering these letters so Helen would not suspect her trouble. Then she hit on the plan of writing to him every day, posting the letters herself and placing them in her own trunk instead of the post-box.
“He will read them some day. They will relieve my heart,” she sadly told herself.
Helen met her on the pier with a cry of girlish joy, and the first word she uttered was, “Oh! Sallie, Bob loves me! He’s been here two weeks, and he’s just gone home. I have been in heaven. We are engaged!”
“Then I ’ll kiss you again, Helen.”—She gave her another kiss.
“And I’ve a big letter at home for you already! It’s post-marked ‘Hambright.’ It came this morning. I know you will feast on it. If Bob don’t write me faithfully I ’ll make him come here and live in Boston.”
When Sallie got this letter, she sat down in her room, and read and re-read its passionate words. There was a tone of bitterness and wounded pride in it. She struggled bravely to keep the tears back. Then the tone of the letter changed to tenderness and faith and infinite love that struggled in vain for utterance.
She kissed the name and sighed. “Now I must go down and chat and smile with Helen. She’s so silly about her own love, if I talk about Bob she will forget I live.”