"I wrote a letter," she answered defiantly, "most three weeks ago, the very first letter I ever wrote in my life." "To your sweetheart?" "No, I ain't countin' him. I've been writin' to him a long time; he says one kind of spelling is just as good to him as another, but this letter I wrote to--to--Paris--to Dr. Paul Crossett." It was out now, and she was afraid to look at him. In spite of the dependence he had grown to have upon her, she was still very much in awe of him, and she dreaded to hear the reproach that she knew would be in his voice. "Maria!" It was there, he was angry. She knew that he would be, but she also knew that it had been her duty to do what she had done. "You--Maria--you would not tell him----?" "I told him everything!" She burst out, "I told him you was just killin' yourself, sittin' here, an' thinkin', an' breakin' your heart. All day an' all night. I told him that the best man I ever knew was just letting himself fade out and die. And I told him that if he was the friend I thought he was he'd come here and do something." "Maria!" He spoke sternly now. "You had no right." "I know it." "I am very angry with you. I--I wish that you had told me of it." "You would have stopped me, wouldn't you?" "Yes." "That's why I didn't. I wouldn't have told you now, only I knew you'd find it out. I'm expecting him every minute." "He is coming here." The Doctor rose to his feet in his excitement. "Yes. I got a cable from him. It came over a week ago. It most scared me to death when I got it. It's the first one I ever saw." "He is coming?" "To-day, the cable said." "You brought one of the busiest men in Europe away from his work for me. You had no right to do it." "Perhaps not." She stood there, afraid of him, but obstinately glad of the thing she had done. "All I know is mindin' my own business, and it's my business to take care of you the best I can. There--there ain't nobody else to do it now. It's only what she'd have done herself if she'd been here." It was the first time since Lola had left them that she had spoken her name or made any allusion to her, and he shrank away from it now pitifully. "Please!" He turned away from her, seating himself heavily in his chair. "It's only what Miss Lola would have done," she continued firmly. "I told you not to speak her name." "I know that you did, the very day after she left home. You told me to think of her as if she was dead, but she ain't dead. She's out there in the world somewhere, and some day she's coming back!" "No! No!" "Yes, she is, and when she comes she'll find everything ready for her. She'll find her room just like it always was, and she'll find me just like I always was, lovin' her. I can't forget what she used to be to me. I don't care what she's done!"