WE are in another dingy little hotel—off to the eastward of the Legation Quarter, opposite the German wall. We packed our trunks last night. It is forlorn business, of course. But Heloise has not seemed greatly depressed. I suppose that any activity is a relief to her spirits after the strain.
She is out now; and I am a little worried. The situation has switched about rather oddly, it appears, within the hours, and it is I who must play the passive rôle.
Directly after breakfast we rode over with our band luggage and engaged these rooms. I left Heloise here, and myself went back for the trunks. It took me some little time.
When I returned, I found a note in my room. Heloise had suspended it by a string from my chandelier, where I could not miss it.
There were only a few sentences, penciled in haste. She feels that she must see Crocker herself. And now that he, poor fellow, has lost the advantage of his greater physical strength, they can meet as equals, in a sense.
This is natural, I think—and right. There would have to be a meeting; I can see that now. But it is not so easy to sit quietly here. I can do nothing, except to go on writing until she....
They are calling in the hall. I think they want me at the telephone.
It was Heloise.
I am still to wait. She asks it; and I will. And she is right. It is the only thing to do. This is her task, not mine.
But what a task for her slender hands—alone there in the great hotel where men drink and bargain, where tourists swarm, where women parade!