But she saved him the trouble. She interrupted one of his blundering, stumbling sentences in the middle.
“Never mind, Albert,” she said quietly. “You needn't explain. I think I understand.”
He stopped and stared at her. “You understand?” he repeated. “Why--why, no, you don't. You can't.”
“Yes, I can, or I think I can. You have changed your mind, that is all.”
“Yes. Don't you remember I told you you would change your mind about--well, about me? You were so sure you cared so very, very much for me, you know. And I said you mustn't promise anything because I thought you would change your mind. And you have. That is it, isn't it? You have found some one else.”
He gazed at her as if she were a witch who had performed a miracle.
“Why--why--well, by George!” he exclaimed. “Helen--how--how did you know? Who told you?”
“No one told me. But I think I can even guess who it is you have found. It is Madeline Fosdick, isn't it?”
His amazement now was so open-mouthed as well as open-eyed that she could not help smiling.
“Don't! Don't stare at me like that,” she whispered. “Every one is looking at you. There is old Captain Pease on the other side of the street; I'm sure he thinks you have had a stroke or something. Here! Walk down our road a little way toward home with me. We can talk as we walk. I'm sure,” she added, with just the least bit of change in her tone, “that your Madeline won't object to our being together to that extent.”
She led the way down the side street toward the parsonage and he followed her. He was still speechless from surprise.
“Well,” she went on, after a moment, “aren't you going to say anything?”
“But--but, Helen,” he faltered, “how did you know?”
She smiled again. “Then it IS Madeline,” she said. “I thought it must be.”
“You--you thought--What made you think so?”
For an instant she seemed on the point of losing her patience.
Then she turned and laid her hand on his arm.
“Oh, Al,” she said, “please don't think I am altogether an idiot. I surmised when your letters began to grow shorter and--well, different--that there was something or some one who was changing them, and I suspected it was some one. When you stopped writing altogether, I KNEW there must be. Then father wrote in his letters about you and about meeting you, and so often Madeline Fosdick was wherever he met you. So I guessed--and, you see, I guessed right.”