"Ah, if I had to choose between
you--!"
"You would let her take her chance? But I can't, you see. I must
take my punishment alone."
She drew her hand away, sighing. "Oh, there will be no punishment
for either of you."
"For either of us? There will be the reading of her letter for me."
She shook her head with a slight laugh. "There will be no letter."
Thursdale faced about from the threshold with fresh life in his
look. "No letter? You don't mean--"
"I mean that she's been with you since I saw her--she's seen you and
heard your voice. If there _is_ a letter, she has recalled it--from
the first station, by telegraph."
He turned back to the door, forcing an answer to her smile. "But in
the mean while I shall have read it," he said.
The door closed on him, and she hid her eyes from the dreadful
emptiness of the room.
THE QUICKSAND
I
AS Mrs. Quentin's victoria, driving homeward, turned from the Park
into Fifth Avenue, she divined her son's tall figure walking ahead
of her in the twilight. His long stride covered the ground more
rapidly than usual, and she had a premonition that, if he were going
home at that hour, it was because he wanted to see her.
Mrs. Quentin, though not a fanciful woman, was sometimes aware of a
sixth sense enabling her to detect the faintest vibrations of her
son's impulses. She was too shrewd to fancy herself the one mother
in possession of this faculty, but she permitted herself to think
that few could exercise it more discreetly.
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