t
this whole matter seems deucedly odd to me. There is something which
I don't understand. You haven't answered my question. Under the
circumstances, considering our talk the other evening, I think I have a
right to ask it. Why did she leave so suddenly?"

I hesitated. Mayberry's principal thoroughfare was far from crowded, but
it was scarcely the place for an interview like this.

"She had a reason for leaving," I answered, slowly. "I will tell you
later, perhaps, what it was. Just now I cannot."

"You cannot!" he repeated. He was evidently struggling with his
impatience and growing suspicious. "You cannot! But I think I have a
right to know."

"I appreciate your feelings, but I cannot tell you now."

"Why not?"

"Because--Well, because I don't think it would be fair to her. She would
not wish me to tell you."

"She would not wish it? Was it because of me she left?"

"No; not in the least."

"Was it--was it because of someone else? By Jove! it wasn't because of
that Heathcroft cad? Don't tell me that! My God! she--she didn't--"

I interrupted. His suspicion angered me. I should have understood his
feelings, should have realized that he had been and was disappointed
and agitated and that my answers to his questions must have aroused all
sorts of fears and forebodings in his mind. I should have pitied him,
but just then I had little pity for others.

"She did nothing but what she considered right," I said sharply. "Her
leaving had nothing to do with Heathcroft or with you. I doubt if she
thought of either of you at all."

It was a brutal speech, and he took it like a man. I saw him turn pale
and bite his lips, but when he next spoke it was in a calmer tone.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I was a silly ass even to think such a thing.
But--but you see, Knowles, I--I--this means so much to me. I'm sorry,
though. I ask her pardon and yours."

I was sorry, too. "Of course I didn't mean that, exactly," I said. "Her
feelings toward you are of the kindest, I have no doubt, but her reason
for leaving was a purely personal one. You were not concerned in it."

He reflected. He was far from satisfied, naturally, and his next speech
showed it.

"It is extraordinary, all this," he said. "You are quite sure you don't
know when she is coming back?"

"Quite."

"Would you mind giving me her London address?"

"I don't know it."

"You don't KNOW it! Oh, I say! that's damned nonsense! You don't know
when she is coming bac