Frank paused.
"And when you're dead—?" he said slowly.
There was an instant's silence. Then Frank took up his discourse again. (So far he had done exactly what he had wanted. He had dropped two tiny ideas on her heart once more—hope and fear.)
"Now I've something to tell you. Do you remember the last time I talked to you? Well, I've been thinking what was the best thing to do, and a few days ago I saw my chance and took it. You've got a little prayer-book down at the bottom of your bundle, haven't you? Well, I got at that (you never let anyone see it, you know), and I looked through it. I looked through all your things. Did you know your address was written in it? I wasn't sure it was your address, you know, until—"
Gertie sat up, white with passion.
"You looked at my things?"
Frank looked her straight in the face.
"Don't talk to me like that," he said. "Wait till I've done.... Well, I wrote to the address, and I got an answer; then I wrote again, and I got another answer and a letter for you. It came this morning, to the post-office where I got it."
Gertie looked at him, still white, with her lips parted.
"Give me the letter," she whispered.