"WON'T?" Susan echoed, astonished.
"No," Billy said with a sigh. "Mrs. Carroll's been awfully queer since--since Jo, you know---"
"Why, Bill, she was so wonderful!"
"Just at first, yes. But she's gone into a sort of melancholia, now, Phil was telling me about it."
"But that doesn't sound a bit like her," Susan said, worriedly.
"No, does it? But go over and see them anyway, it'll do them all good. Well--look your last at the old block, Sue!"
Susan got on the car, leaning back for a long, goodbye look at the shabby block, duller than ever in the grimy winter light, and at the dirt and papers and chaff drifting up against the railings, and at the bakery window, with its pies and bread and Nottingham lace curtains. Fulton Street was a thing of the past.
CHAPTER III
The next day, in a whirling rainstorm, well protected by a trim raincoat, overshoes, and a close-fitting little hat about which spirals of bright hair clung in a halo, Susan crossed the ferry and climbed up the long stairs that rise through the very heart of Sausalito. The sky was gray, the bay beaten level by the rain, and the wet gardens that Susan passed were dreary and bare. Twisting oak trees gave vistas of wind-whipped vines, and of the dark and angry water; the steps she mounted ran a shallow stream.