That was all in the letter. Moreover, it was in the part I had not
read to her. But she abruptly abandoned this line of inquiry. She did
not care. She let me smoke on.
Suddenly she dropped her work and asked, "Is that a footstep on the
porch?"
"Footsteps! No--why, who did you think was coming?" I said.
"Mr. Weston promised to drop in on his way home from hunting--but I
guess he'll disappoint me. I hoped it was he." She fell to her task
again, only now she began to hum softly, thus shutting me off entirely.
For a very long while I endured it, but the time came when action of
some kind was called for. We were not married, that I could sit
forever smoking while she hummed. Even in Black Log, etiquette
requires that a man talk to a woman when in her company; and when the
woman ceases to listen, the wise man departs. That was just what I did
not want to do, and only one alternative was left me. I got out the
letter and held it under the light.
"You were asking about Tim's friends, Mary," said I.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158