"She's not here," replied Patience. "I—I don't know where she is."
"Not know where she is?" he demanded. "But you had my note; you know what has happened?"
"Yes—I know," replied the old woman in a dull, level voice. "And she knows, too; I told her last night."
"Well—what did she say?"
"She didn't say anything; she seemed stunned," said Patience. "I broke it to her gently; I said there had been an accident, and that someone she loved—just like that I put it—someone she loved was dead. And the funny thing was that she looked at me wildly—and said another name—not his at all."
"Another name?" Jimmy looked at her in perplexity. "Whose?"
"Yours. She must have been thinking of something else," said the old woman. "Then, when I told her who it was, she sat for a long time brooding; but she didn't say anything. And this morning she went out quite early, without a word to me."
"I'll come again," said Jimmy, moving towards the door. And at the door she called him softly.
"Mr. Jimmy—did he tell you anything?" It was a mere whisper, and she looked at him intently while she spoke.
"Everything. That's what I'm to see her about," he said. "I'll come again."