And, fearing you might not come to me, I forced my way hither, even with certainty of discomposing your friends. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. “Don’t ask me to tell you all that women can do, all that women can be. “This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Operations then commenced. She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her.
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