"There's Sylvia now. I must go."
The girl came in, aglow from her walk.
"I'm awfully sorry I banged the door," she apologized. "A gust of wind took it. I do hope I didn't wake up Mr. Heath. Here's the marketing. I thought I should never get out of that store. Everybody in the whole town was there for mail and I had to stop and tell each one all about Mr. Heath and his shipwreck, his boat and his health. I must have answered a million questions. People are dreadfully curious about him.
"And Marcia, what do you suppose? I had a letter from Hortie Fuller—that fellow back home that I've told you about. He's sent me a five-pound box of candy and he wants to come to Wilton and spend his summer vacation."
The girl's eyes were shining and she breathed quickly.
"Of course I don't care a button for Hortie. Still, it would be rather good fun to see him. He always dropped in every day when I was at home. It seems ages since I've laid eyes on him. You know how it is—you get used to a person who is always under foot. You have to think about him if only to avoid stepping on him. And after all, Hortie isn't so bad. Thinking him over from a distance, he really is rather nice. Come and sample the candy. It's wonderful. He must have blown himself and sent to Chicago for it, poor dear! I suppose Eben Snow read the address, because he called out 'Guess you've got a beau out West, Miss Sylvia.' Everybody heard him and I thought I should go through the floor. He looked the letter all over, too. I'll let you see the letter, all except the part which is too frightfully silly. You wouldn't care about that. I don't myself."
Sylvia shrugged her shoulders.
Alas, this was no moment to talk with her, and artfully draw from her the happenings of the previous day.
Inwardly distraught but outwardly calm, Marcia took the letter and tried valiantly to focus her attention upon it.
To her surprise, it was a manly, intelligent letter, filled with town gossip, to be sure, yet written in delightfully interesting fashion.