“You truly mean that!”
“Yes.”
“Then find out from her what I said!”
“Come, father,” said Philip, rising.
“You were going to show Miss Comstock’s
letter to Edith!” suggested Mr. Ammon.
“I have not the slightest interest in Miss Comstock’s
letter,” said Edith Carr.
“You are not even interested in the fact that
she says you are not responsible for her going, and
that I am to call on you and be friends with you?”
“That is interesting, indeed!” sneered
Miss Carr.
She took the letter, read and returned it.
“She has done what she could for my cause, it
seems,” she said coldly. “How very
generous of her! Do you propose calling out Pinkertons
and instituting a general search?”
“No,” replied Philip. “I simply
propose to go back to the Limberlost and live with
her mother, until Elnora becomes convinced that I am
not courting you, and never shall be. Then, perhaps,
she will come home to us. Good-bye. Good
luck to you always!”
WHEREIN EDITH CARR WAGES A BATTLE, AND HART HENDERSON STANDS GUARD
Many people looked, a few followed, when Edith Carr
slowly came down the main street of Mackinac, pausing
here and there to note the glow of colour in one small
booth after another, overflowing with gay curios.
That street of packed white sand, winding with the
curves of the shore, outlined with brilliant shops,
and thronged with laughing, bare-headed people in
outing costumes was a picturesque and fascinating sight.
Thousands annually made long journeys and paid exorbitant
prices to take part in that pageant.
As Edith Carr passed, she was the most distinguished
figure of the old street. Her clinging black
gown was sufficiently elaborate for a dinner dress.
On her head was a large, wide, drooping-brimmed black
hat, with immense floating black plumes, while on
the brim, and among the laces on her breast glowed
velvety, deep red roses. Some way these made up
for the lack of colour in her cheeks and lips, and
while her eyes seemed unnaturally bright, to a close
observer they appeared weary. Despite the effort
she made to move lightly she was very tired, and dragged
her heavy feet with an effort.
She turned at the little street leading to the dock,
and went to meet the big lake steamer ploughing up
the Straits from Chicago. Past the landing place,
on to the very end of the pier she went, then sat down,
leaned against a dock support and closed her tired
eyes. When the steamer came very close she languidly
watched the people lining the railing. Instantly
she marked one lean anxious face turned toward hers,
and with a throb of pity she lifted a hand and waved
to Hart Henderson. He was the first man to leave
the boat, coming to her instantly. She spread
her trailing skirts and motioned him to sit beside
her. Silently they looked across the softly lapping
water. At last she forced herself to speak to
him.
