"Read those, dear," she said breathlessly, thrusting a letter and telegram into his hand. "They will account for this morning. I had bad news. But thank God it's all right now. I wired."
"And never told me?"
"You were so happy. How could I?"
"Then that was why you bolted?"
"Yes. I couldn't have kept it up for long."
"Well . . I've no time to scold you now," he said, looking unspeakable things at her. "Wait till I get you to myself, . . that's all!"
This short colloquy, carried on in an undertone, did not reach Quita's ears.
"What sort of a man is this Paul?" she asked as Honor returned to her chair. "I don't know his other name! Is he the sort that would be likely to understand . . our very incomprehensible position?"
Honor took a leather frame from the table beside her, and put it into
Quita's hands.
"If you are any judge of faces, that's the best answer I can give you."