“It's me, Dick. I'm coming down.”
“No, wait.” He stepped up beside her, and added, in a low, uncertain voice, “You might wake Pink; he's sleeping below.” And before she knew it, his pipe lay on a plank and he had taken both her hands. “You came out to see me, Annie?”
“Yes, but wait, Dick; I don't know how to tell you—I couldn't help coming—” He waited for her to go on, but she could not. She could not even withdraw her hands, but stood motionless, her wits fluttering. Finally he spoke:—
“You said you came to tell me—”
“Not that, Dick—not what you think. It's something else.”
He released her hands. He even, in his bewilderment, took up his pipe again.
“I've found something out, Dick. I couldn't let it go by without telling you. It's about—Mr. Beveridge.”
“Oh,” said Dick.
“Did you think he was a student?”
“Yes, I thought so.”