What a sweet, rosy-cheeked, healthy, happy trio they
were! I wasn't more than twenty myself that day. I give you my solemn
promise, Quincy, that I won't smoke a cigarette nor drink a glass of
wine while Alice is here,--until after she goes to bed; and then I'll
eat a clove and air the room out thoroughly before I let her in in the
morning."
Quincy was up early next morning, and at ten minutes of nine reached the
lodging house in Myrtle Street. He had taken a carriage, for he knew
Miss Very would have her luggage, probably a trunk. His call at the door
was answered by a sharp-eyed, hatchet-faced woman, whose face was red
with excitement. To Quincy's inquiry if Miss Very was in, the woman
replied, "that she was in and was likely to stay in."
"I trust she is not sick," said Quincy.
"No! she ain't sick," the woman replied, "what you mean by sick; but
there's worse things than bein' sick, especially when a poor widder has
a big house rent to pay and coal seven dollars and a half a ton."
A small trunk, neatly strapped, stood in the hallway. Glancing into the
stuffy little parlor, he saw a woman, apparently young, with her veil
down, seated on a sofa, with a large valise on the floor and a hand bag
at her side.
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