There was a brief wait, then came the answer, “Line disconnected, ma’am,” and she heard Central ring off. Mrs. Parsons put down the instrument in bewildered surprise. “Why had Kitty Baird’s telephone been disconnected?” She was still considering the puzzle as she rearranged some “bridesmaids’ roses” in a vase. By it lay a note in Charles Craige’s fine penmanship. Picking up the note, Mrs. Parsons read it for perhaps the twentieth time.
It ran:
My precious Cecelia:
I am disconsolate that I cannot dine with you to-night. I have promised to see Kitty—poor girl, she needs all the sympathy and help we can give her. Miss me just a little and I shall be contented. My thoughts are with you always.
Ever faithfully,
Charles Craige.
“Beg pardon, Madam.” James the obsequious stood in the room, card tray in hand. “Major Leigh Wallace is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
Mrs. Parsons folded the note and slipped it inside her knitting bag. “Ask Major Wallace to come here,” she said, pausing to switch on a floor lamp, the light from which cast a becoming glow on her as she selected a chair beside it, and took up her embroidery.
“Ah, Leigh, good evening,” she exclaimed a moment later as the young officer stood by her. “Have you come to make your peace with me?”