“You truly mean that!”
“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.