Her daughter shook her head and gazed curiously at their afflicted visitor. She put his age down at twenty-five, and she could not help thinking it a pity that so good-looking a young man should have lost his wits.
“Bade Prudence good-bye at the docks,” continued Mr. Catesby, dreamily. “You drew me behind a pile of luggage, Prudence, and put your head on my shoulder. I have thought of it ever since.”
Miss Truefitt did not deny it, but she bit her lips, and shot a sharp glance at him. She began to think that her pity was uncalled-for.
“I’m just going as far as the corner.”
“Tell me all that’s happened since I’ve been away,” said Mr. Catesby.
Mrs. Truefitt turned to her daughter and whispered. It might have been merely the effect of a guilty conscience, but the visitor thought that he caught the word “policeman.”
“I’m just going as far as the corner,” said Mrs. Truefitt, rising, and crossing hastily to the door.
The young man nodded affectionately and sat in doubtful consideration as the front door closed behind her. “Where is mother going?” he asked, in a voice which betrayed a little pardonable anxiety.