"It is just as hard for me as it is for you, isn't it?" he repeated.
"Yes, Steve, I suppose it is."
"You suppose? Don't you know? Oh, do quit thinking about Mal Dunn and
pay attention to me."
She did not answer. He regarded her with disgust.
"You are thinking of Mal, of course," he declared. "What's the use? You
know what _I_ think: you were a fool to write him that letter."
"Don't, Steve; please don't."
"Ugh!"
"Don't you know he didn't get the letter? I was so nervous and
over-wrought that I misdirected it."
"Pooh! Has he ever stayed away from you so long before? Or his precious
mother, either? Why doesn't she come to see you? She scarcely missed a
day before this happened. Nonsense! I guess he got it all right."
"Steve, stop! stop! Don't dare speak like that. Do you realize what you
are insinuating? You don't believe it! You know you don't! Shame on you!
I'm ashamed of my brother! No! not another word of that kind, or I shall
leave the room."
She had risen to her feet. He looked at her determined face and turned
away.
"Oh, well," he muttered, sullenly, "maybe you're right. I don't say
you're not. Perhaps he didn't get the letter. You sent it to his office,
and he may have been called out of town. But his mother--"
"Mrs.
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