“Your rival, Buddy Higman, comes every day. Though that’s partly business. But he always starts in by asking, ‘Heard from Her, again, Miss Letty?’”
Her visitor gave her a grateful look. “What do you hear, Miss Pritchard?”
“My young and dangerous cousin is dashing about New York at a great rate,” she informed him, “enjoying life to the utmost.”
“Then she has n’t sailed yet.”
“She sails in a fortnight.”
“Does she say anything about coming back?”
The rosy spinster shook her head. “Not a word. But then, Marcia does n’t say things. She does ’em.”
“Do you think she will come back—some time?”
“Probably not. I think she will—well, do what is best for her. Without being at all a selfish person, Marcia has a singular instinct for doing what is best for herself. In the real sense, I mean.”
Undoubtedly! reflected young Mr. Jeremy Robson. She had done the best thing for herself in judging him and finding him lacking. Acceptance of which fact gave to his face an expression which caused Miss Pritchard to look the other way. Presently she went to a shelf in the nook and brought out an envelope which she placed in her caller’s hand.