Jessie Stirling began excitedly:
“And so you have never heard a word from West Virginia since the night you left so suddenly! Then I have much to tell you. But first, have you not heard from Chester Olyphant in all this time?”
There was an anxious tone in her voice, but Leola did not heed it, she answered so spiritedly:
“That is a strange question, Jessie. I have not heard, or ever wished to hear, from him.”
Jessie’s little tinkling laugh rang out in shallow ripples on the air, as she exclaimed:
“Still angry! But, poor dear, I do not blame you. It was hard for me to forgive him for trifling with your tender heart. It was his illness and suffering that melted my heart.”
Leola listened in blank silence. She would not have asked one word about Chester Olyphant if Jessie had said that he was dead.
“You care nothing for him now—that is plain to be seen. I am glad you have gotten so bravely over it,” said Jessie, smiling at the fair, proud face, with the somber dark eyes gazing straight ahead, though seeing nothing of the gay streets with throngs of happy people going up and down as they drove on behind the liveried coachmen.
Then she added:
“You remember, we thought that Chester Olyphant had run away after I betrayed him? That was wrong.”