Boy looked puzzled for a moment.
“Oh, yes! I know! A little round-faced chap!”
Miss Letty went on patiently,—
“Do you remember Major Desmond?”
“Yes—a little.”
Miss Letty took up her sewing. She required that useful embroidery to steady her trembling fingers.
“I asked you when we were in Scotland to write to me sometimes,” she said gently. “And you said you would. Why didn’t you?”
“I did!” burst out Boy suddenly, getting very red, and remembering the old injury which had rankled far more deeply in his soul all these years than any remembrance of affection. “And you never answered!”
Miss Letty laid down her work with a look of surprise and indignation darkening her gentle eyes.
“You wrote and I never answered!” she repeated. “My dear Boy, there must be some mistake! I have never heard a word from you since you said good-bye to me in Scotland!”