She could not answer, but the thought floated through her mind that they never had said good-bye, that he had just walked out of her life and stayed away until this moment, when fate had thrown them together.
“If you knew how often I have thought about you,” he said.
“Did you get my letter, Lallie? The one I wrote on New Year’s Eve––and the money? I sent you some money.”
A swift flush dyed her cheeks; she raised her eyes.
That had been his letter then, after all––Micky had lied to her; she caught her breath on a little gasp.
“Yes,” she said faintly. “Yes––yes, I got it––thank you.”
“I’ve often thought since that I might have written you a kinder letter,” he said after a moment. “But everything had gone wrong then––the mater cut up rough––and I was up to my eyes in debt. It was the best thing for both of us to put an end to it, don’t you think it was? You used to say that you wouldn’t mind being poor, but in the end you’d have hated it as much as I should.” He paused as if expecting her to speak, but she was plucking at the blue-and-white fringe of the tablecloth with nervous fingers.
What did he mean––that he might have written her a kinder letter––when she always remembered it as one of the dearest she had ever received?
He went on again––