" Then again, how generous it was of her to
persist in writing to him with never an answer from him to
encourage her. If she cared for him so little as he had once
imagined, why should she wish to keep up even a presence of
fondness? Her letters indicated an undying devotion.
These were some of the thoughts that were going through Alfred's
mind just three months after his departure from Chicago, and all
the while his hostess was mentally dubbing him a "dull person."
"What an abstracted man he is!" she said before he was down the
front steps.
"Is he really so clever in business?" a woman friend inquired.
"It's hard to believe, isn't it?" commented a third, and his host
apologised for the absent Alfred by saying that he was no doubt
worried about a particular business decision that had to be made
the next morning.
But it was not the responsibility of this business decision that
was knotting Alfred's brow, as he walked hurriedly toward the
hotel, where he had told his office boy to leave the last mail.
This had been the longest interval that Zoie had ever let slip
without writing. He recalled that her last letters had hinted at
a "slight indisposition." In fact, she had even mentioned
"seeing the doctor"--"Good Heavens!" he thought, "Suppose she
were really ill? Who would look after her?"
When Alfred reached his rooms, the boy had not yet arrived.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97