" "What is it?" asked the poor woman. Why? If she had put the query to herself, she could not have answered it. ’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. ’ ‘Comment? But already he has made this visit—in town. His gangling body was clothed in rusty twill trousers and a long black seersucker coat, buttoned to the throat, around which ran a collar which would have marked him the world over as a man of the Word. This salute of his—actually the first she could remember—while it did not disturb her, began to lead her thoughts into new channels of speculation. Part 4 MY DEAR VEE, he wrote. He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists.
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