WANTED—AN OWNER
I have never reproached Miss Patty, but if she had only given me the letter to read or had told me the whole truth instead of a part of it, I would have understood, and things would all have been different. It is all very well for her to say that I looked worried enough already, and that anyhow it was a family affair. I SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOLD.
All she did was to come up to me as I stood in the spring, with her face perfectly white, and ask me if my Dicky Carter was the Richard Carter who stayed at the Grosvenor in town.
"He doesn't stay anywhere," I said, with my feet getting cold, "but that's where he has apartments. What has he been doing now?"
"You're expecting him on the evening train, aren't you?" she asked. "Don't stare like that: my father's watching."
"He ought to be on the evening train," I said. I wasn't going to say I expected him. I didn't.
"Listen, Minnie," she said, "you'll have to send him away again the moment he comes. He must not go into the house."
I stood looking at her, with my mouth open.
"Not go into the house," I repeated, "with everybody waiting for him for the last six days, and Mr. Stitt here to turn things over to him!"
She stood tapping her foot, with her pretty brows knitted.