"I'll wait another five minutes," she said. She waited ten; and then another ten. "David," she said, in a smothered voice, "go; tell Maggie he isn't coming—to dinner. You have your dinner, dear little boy. I—don't want any."
She went up-stairs to her own room, and shut and locked the door. All was over….
Yet when, in the early afternoon, the mail arrived, she had a pang of hope that was absolute agony, for he had written.
There were only a dozen lines besides the "Dearest Nelly":
"I am just starting out West, rather unexpectedly, on business. I am taking Alice along, and she is greatly delighted at the idea of a journey—her first. I don't know just when I'll get back; not for six weeks anyhow. Probably eight. Hope you and your youngster are all right.
"Yours, L. P.
"Your despatch received. We must talk things over the next time I come to Old Chester."
She passed her hand over her eyes in a bewildered way; for a moment the words had absolutely no sense. Then she read them again: "We must talk things Over—"
What things? Why, their marriage, of course! Their marriage? She burst out laughing; and David, looking at her, shrank away.