.

He looked out the window, pretending to be caught by something passing,
leaned to see it the better.

"Oh, how'd you get along last night?" he asked, and wondered why he had
not thought to say it before.

"All right, thank you," said Lulu.

"Was he--about the letter, you know?"

"Yes," she said, "but that didn't matter. You'll be sure," she added,
"not to say anything about what was in the letter?"

"Why, not till you tell me I can," said Cornish, "but won't everybody
know now?"

"No," Lulu said.

At this he had no more to say, and feeling his speculation in his eyes,
dropped them to a piano scarf from which he began flicking invisible
specks.

"I came to tell you good-bye," Lulu said.

"_Good-bye!_"

"Yes. I'm going off--for a while. My satchel's in the bakery--I had my
breakfast in the bakery."

"Say!" Cornish cried warmly, "then everything _wasn't_ all right last
night?"

"As right as it can ever be with me," she told him. "Oh, yes. Dwight
forgave me."

"Forgave you!"

She smiled, and trembled.

"Look here," said Cornish, "you come here and sit down and tell me about
this."

He led her to the folding table, as the only social spot in that vast
area of his, seated her in the one chair, and for himself brought up a
piano stool. But after all she told him nothing. She merely took the
comfort of his kindly indignation.

"It came out all right," she said only. "But I won't stay there any
more. I can't do that."

"Then what are you going to do?"

"In Millton yesterday," she said, "I saw an advertisement in the
hotel--they wanted a chambermaid."

"Oh, Miss Bett!" he cried. At that name she flushed. "Why," said
Cornish, "you must have been coming from Millton yesterday when I saw
you. I noticed Miss Di had her bag--" He stopped, stared.

"You brought her back!" he deduced everything.

"Oh!" said Lulu. "Oh, no--I mean--"

"I heard about the eloping again this morning," he said. "That's just
what you did--you brought her back."

"You mustn't tell that! You won't? You won't!"

"No. 'Course not." He mulled it. "You tell me this: Do they know? I mean
about your going after her?"

"No."

"You never told!"

"They don't know she went."

"That's a funny thing," he blurted out, "for you not to tell her
folks--I mean, right off. Before last night...."

"You don't know them. Dwight'd never let up on that--he'd _joke_ her
about it after a while."

"But it seems--"

"Ina'd talk about di