Part 52 (2/2)
”As long as Peter was around, that was one thing; now that he's gone--”
”It throws me back on your hands,” she interrupted, in an attempt to a.s.sert herself. ”Please to sit down. You're making your old mistake of trying to be serious. There's not the slightest reason in the world why you should bother about me like this.”
She ventured to look at him again. His brows were drawn together in a puzzled frown. Dear Monte--it was cruel of her to confuse him like this, when he was trying to see straight. He looked so very woe-begone when he looked troubled at all.
”It--it is n't any bother,” he stammered.
”I should think it was a good deal,” she answered, feeling for a moment that she had the upper hand. ”Where did you come from to here?”
”Paris.”
”You did n't go on to England at all?”
”No.”
”Then you did n't get back to your schedule. If you had done that, you would n't have had any time left to--to think about other things.”
”I did n't get beyond the Normandie,” he answered. ”My schedule stopped short right there.”
He was still standing before her. Apparently he intended to remain.
So she rose and crossed to another chair. He followed.
”You should have gone on,” she insisted.
”I had my old room--next to yours,” he said.
She must trouble him still more. There was no other way.
”That was rather sentimental of you, Monte, was n't it?” she asked lightly.
”I went there as a man goes home,” he answered softly.
Her lips became suddenly dumb.
”Then I had a long letter from Peter; the first one.”
”He has written you before?”
”He wrote me that he loved you and was going to marry you. That was before he learned the truth.”
”About you?”
”And about you. When he wrote again, he said you had told him everything.”
So she had; more, far more than she should. What of that had he told Monte? The question left her faint again.
”How did it happen?” he asked.
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