It was to have reached you on
the steamer. I was all the morning writing it. I told myself that if I
were really thinking of you, and not of myself, a letter would be better
than nothing. Marks on paper mean something to you." He paused. "They
never did to me."
Hilda smiled up at him beautifully and put her hand on his sleeve. "Oh,
Bartley! Did you write to me? Why didn't you telephone me to let me know
that you had? Then I wouldn't have come."
Alexander slipped his arm about her. "I didn't know it before, Hilda,
on my honor I didn't, but I believe it was because, deep down in me
somewhere, I was hoping I might drive you to do just this. I've watched
that door all day. I've jumped up if the fire crackled. I think I have
felt that you were coming." He bent his face over her hair.
"And I," she whispered,--"I felt that you were feeling that. But when I
came, I thought I had been mistaken."
Alexander started up and began to walk up and down the room.
"No, you weren't mistaken. I've been up in Canada with my bridge, and
I arranged not to come to New York until after you had gone. Then, when
your manager added two more weeks, I was already committed." He dropped
upon the stool in front of her and sat with his hands hanging between
his knees. "What am I to do, Hilda?"
"That's what I wanted to see you about, Bartley. I'm going to do
what you asked me to do when you were in London. Only I'll do it more
completely. I'm going to marry."
"Who?"
"Oh, it doesn't matter much! One of them.
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