And yet--and
yet he did not come.
So, in her loneliness and misery, her guardian's words returned again
and again to her memory: "Sometimes when things look all right they turn
out to be all wrong. If ever there comes a time like that to you and
Steve, remember you've got me to turn to." The time had come when she
must turn to someone.
She would never go to him; she vowed it. She would not accept his help
if he came to her. But, if he was sincere, if he meant what he said,
why did he not come again to proffer it? Because he was not sincere,
of course. That had been proven long before. She despised him. But
his face, as she last saw it, refused to be banished from her mind.
It looked so strong, and yet gentle and loving, like the face of a
protector, one to be trusted through good times and bad. Oh, this
wicked, wicked world, and the shams and sorrows in it! "Malcolm, why
don't you come to me?"
Stephen uttered an exclamation. Looking up, she saw him hurrying toward
the hall.
"Someone's at the door," he explained. "It's Sylvester, of course. I'll
let him in."
It was not the lawyer but a messenger boy with a note. Stephen returned
to the library with the missive in his hand.
"He couldn't get here, Caro," he said, excitedly. "Wants us to come
right down to his office.
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