"I have written; but, maybe, he never got my letter. He would not have let me suffer so."
Keith's mouth shut closer.
She went on to tell of Wickersham's leaving her; of her hopes that after her child was born he would come back to her. But the child was born and died. Then of her despair; of how she had spent everything, and sold everything she had to come home.
"I think if I could see him and tell him what I have been through, maybe he would--be different. I know he cared for me for a while.--But I can't find him," she went on hopelessly. "I don't want to go to him where there are others to see me, for I'm not fit to see even if they'd let me in--which they wouldn't." (She glanced down at her worn and shabby frock.) "I have watched for him 'most all day, but I haven't seen him, and the police ordered me away."
"I will find him for you," said Keith, grimly.
"Oh, no! You mustn't--you mustn't say anything to him. It would make him--it wouldn't do any good, and he'd never forgive me." She coughed deeply.
"Phrony, you must go home," said Keith.
For a second a spasm shot over her face; then a ray of light seemed to flit across it, and then it died out.
She shook her head.
"No, I'll never go back there," she said.