"BILL."
"Is that all?" she asked, half laughing, half excited.
"He telegraphed your mother the substance of a moderate-sized letter. She's probably in her room now, reading it. She showed it to me in amazement, but I didn't have time to follow all his polite and grateful meanderings."
"I wish to see it!" said the girl excitedly.
"Go ahead; your mother has it. I was anxious to let you know how matters had turned out, first."
"You're a dear!" she repeated, and her voice was not any too steady. "I am happy; I am happier than I've been for—" She checked herself, and bent her head for a moment; he pretended to reread the telegram.
"It will be all right now," he observed.
"I wish I knew," she said under her breath.
"Don't you?"
She lifted her honest eyes to his. "How can I know, Jim? I don't know how men are. It all happened over a year ago.... I was no wiser than a schoolgirl. What experience had I—with such episodes—such conditions—or with anything?"