Cis stood motionless after the front door closed, till Nan came creeping into the room and little Matt stirred with a complaining cry.
Rodney had gone, gone with Myrtle, dead, to bury her; deeper still to bury his hope and love of Cicely. Nothing was left of Rodney Moore except his promise to her. But that promise filled Cis with exaltation.
The next morning Cis made it on her way to her office to go to see Jeanette Lucas, though it was a détour that took her in the opposite direction for several blocks.
“Cis, I wanted to see you; did you sense it?” Jeanette cried as she came in. “I’ve something wonderful, marvellous to tell you. You remember Paul Ralph Randolph?”
“Why, of course I do,” said Cis. “Didn’t he tour New England with Mr. Lancaster last summer, keeping with Miss Braithwaite’s car? I rode with him lots of times, and had fine talks. He’s the convert minister who has been so fine about it; I mean sacrifices and all that.”
“Surely! Cis, he’s a confessor of the faith! He’s almost a martyr for it! He’s perfectly glorious!” cried Jeanette.
“You’ve heard all that; everybody has, of course. You don’t know him, do you?” Cis asked.
“Oh, Cicely Adair! He told me that he had talked to you of me!” Jeanette looked aggrieved. “I met him in England; he crossed with us coming home. He was received in England, because it was easier. His father and mother behaved violently about his coming over to the Church, when he announced that he intended to come, so he went across, and he was received by the Benedictines over there. Don’t you remember? I must have spoken of it, and he himself told you that he knew me! What a girl! Did you remember everything he told you of Mr. Lancaster? Paul says—”
“Hallo! Who says?” cried Cis.