“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, sitting up; “I’ve some news for you.”
“So have I,” said I. For I had resolved to tell him what I had done.
“Hear mine first. It’s urgent. Miss Margaret Goodwin has been here.”
My heart seemed to leap.
“Today?” I cried.
“Yes. I had called to see you, and was waiting a little while on the chance of your coming in when I happened to look out of the window. A girl was coming down the street, looking at the numbers of the houses. She stopped here. Intuition told me she was Miss Goodwin. While she was ringing the bell I did all I could to increase the shabby squalor of your room. She was shown in here, and I introduced myself as your friend. We chatted. I drew an agonising picture of your struggle for existence. You were brave, talented, and unsuccessful. Though you went often hungry, you had a plucky smile upon your lips. It was a meritorious bit of work. Miss Goodwin cried a good deal. She is charming. I was so sorry for her that I laid it on all the thicker.”
“Where is she now?”
“Nearing Guernsey. She’s gone.”
“Gone!” I said. “Without seeing me! I don’t understand.”
“You don’t understand how she loves you, James.”