She had puzzled over the matter until she had come to the conclusion that the young man was romantic. He had purposely withheld his name in order to excite Fair’s curiosity, and to-day he would certainly call and clear up the mystery that now surrounded him.
So the summer day dawned and waned, and all day long the mother and daughter, while busy over their domestic tasks, listened with almost equal eagerness for a step upon the stairs and a hand upon the door, but no one came until almost sunset, and then it was Sadie Allen’s homely yet cheerful face that beamed upon them as she entered and exclaimed:
“I couldn’t rest easy until I found out the reason you didn’t come to work to-day, Fair, so I came as soon as I had my tea. You are sick, aren’t you?” Then, catching sight of the disfiguring plaster on her temple: “Oh, then, you were the heroine of the accident yesterday? I said so. I told the girls, when you didn’t come this morning, that it was Fairfax Fielding, and nobody else. Oh, are you much hurt? Tell me all about it.”
And in a little while, by her curious questions, she had elicited the whole story.
“Oh, how romantic!” she cried, with sparkling eyes. “It’s just like a novel, isn’t it, Mrs. Fielding?”
The lady assented with a smile, and the talkative Sadie continued, with genuine regret:
“For my part, I’d like to see it end like a novel. Own up now, Fair, weren’t you sorry he was just going off to Europe to marry another girl? You must have fallen in love with him at sight. I know I should.”
Fair’s brown eyes flashed proudly.
“In love—nonsense!” she retorted, with pretended gayety. Then her lashes drooped to hide the anxious look she wore as she continued: “But I don’t understand what you mean about his going to Europe.”
“Didn’t he tell you he was going?” demanded Sadie, in surprise.