"Well just say life," she laughed tremulously. "Life'll do."
She found it hard to keep from crying. There had been too much. It had been too long. It was not with clear vision she looked over at the big house where Harry Prescott's wedding feast would be served on the morrow.
It seemed that about half of her life had passed before Worth came back—alone.
Pretense fell away. "Didn't you get him?"
"Why, Aunt Kate, there's another man there. But don't you feel so bad, Aunt Kate," he hastened. "We will get him, 'cause that other man is going to tell him."
"Oh, he—then he is here?"
"Oh yes, he's here. He's just over at the shop."
"I see," said Aunt Kate, very much engaged with something she appeared to think was trying to get in her eye.
"But, Worth," she asked, when she had blinked the gnat away, "what did you tell this other man?"
"Why, I just told him. Told him you was here and wanted the other man that mended the boats. The first man. The big man, I said. He knows who I mean."