CHAPTER XXXII—CHAPTER ONE
SUE stared at him, caught her breath, laughed a little.
“Why—Henry! You startled me. Where's Betty?”
The Worm, thinking quickly, bitterness in his heart against the selfish lightness of the Village, bed. “Haven't seen her. Waited for her to come in. Finally decided I'd better not wait any longer.” They were in the dim living-room now. Sue's eyes took in the strapped trunk and closed suit-case, the bare screen and couch.
“But who—Henry, you don't mean that you—” He nodded. His pipe was out—he simply couldn't keep it going! Still, it gave him something to do, lighting it again.
Sue stood watching him, studying his face by the light of a match reflected from his hollowed hands. “Why so dark in here?” she observed. Then, abruptly, she came to him, laid a hand on his arm, broke out with feeling: “You're a dear, Henry, to go to all this trouble! As it was, I felt I was imposing on you. So I ran in to look after things myself.”
“Going back to-night?” he asked, talking around his pipe-stem.
“Oh. yes. I must.” She moved to the window and gazed out at the crowded familiar scene. Suddenly she turned.
“Henry—didn't you see Betty?”
“No,” he muttered.