“We knew all that before,” I said. “That is, we were practically sure she had left Paris to get rid of us and had gone to her cousins, the Crippses, because of her half-promise to me not to sing at places like the Abbey again. We knew all that. And she asked me to promise that we would not follow her. I didn't promise, but that makes no difference. Was that all Bayliss told you?” Hephzy was still embarrassed and confused, though she answered promptly enough. “He told me he knew she didn't want to go to--to those Leatherheaded folks,” she declared. “We guessed she didn't, but we didn't know it for sure. And he said we ought to go to her. He said that.” “But why did he say it? Our going will not alter her determination to stay and our seeing her again will only make it harder for her.” “No, it won't--no it won't,” hastily. “Besides I want to see that Cripps man and have a talk with him, myself. I want to know why a man like him--I'm pretty well along in years; I've met folks and bargained and dealt with 'em all my grown-up life and I KNOW he isn't the kind to do things for nothin' for ANYBODY--I want to know why he and his wife are so generous to her. There's somethin' behind it.” “There's something behind you, Hephzy. Some other reason that you haven't told me. Was that all Bayliss said?” She hesitated. “Yes,” she said, after a moment, “that's all, all I can tell you now, anyway. But I want you to go with me to that Ash Dump and see her once more.” “I shall not, Hephzy.” “Well, then I'll have to go by myself. And if you don't go, too, I think you'll be awfully sorry. I think you will. Oh, Hosy,” pleadingly, “please go with me. I don't ask you to do many things, now do I? I do ask you to do this.” I shook my head. “I would do almost anything for your sake, Hephzy,” I began. “But this isn't for my sake. It's for hers. For hers. I'm sure--I'm ALMOST sure you and she will both be glad you did it.” I could not understand it at all. I had never seen her more earnest. She was not the one to ask unreasonable things and yet where her sister's child was concerned she could be obstinate enough--I knew that. “I shall go whether you do or not,” she said, as I stood looking at her. “You mean that, Hephzy?” “I surely do. I'm goin' to see her this very forenoon. And I do hope you'll go with me.” I reflected. If she went alone it would be almost as hard for Frances as if I went with her. And the temptation was very strong. The desire to see her once more, only once.... “I'll go, Hephzy,” I said. I didn't mean to say it; the words seemed to come of themselves. “You will! Oh, I'm so glad! I'm so glad! And I think--I think you'll be glad, too, Hosy. I'm hopin' you will.” “I'll go,” I said. “But this is the last time you and I must trouble her. I'll go--not because of any reason you have given me, Hephzy, but because I believe there must be some other and stronger reason, which you haven't told me.”