She looked at me
for a moment as I stood on the brink of saying something but not
saying it, and then she turned suddenly toward the hammock.
"Did you see anything of a fan I left here?" she said. "I
know I left it here, but when I came yesterday it was gone.
Perhaps you may have noticed it somewhere--"
Now, the morning before, I had taken that fan home with me.
It was an awkward thing to carry, but I had concealed it under my
coat. It was a contemptible trick, but the fan had her initials
on it, and as it was the only thing belonging to her of which I
could possess myself, the temptation had been too great to
resist. As she stood waiting for my answer there was a light in
her eye which illuminated my perceptions.
"Did you see me take that fan?" I asked.
"I did," said she.
"Then you know," I exclaimed, stepping nearer to her, "why it
is I did not leave this country as I intended, why it was
impossible for me to tear myself away from this house, why it is
that I have been here every morning, hovering around and doing
the things I have been doing?"
She looked up at me, and with her eyes she said, "How could I
help knowing?" She might have intended to say something with her
lips, but I took my answer from her eyes, and with the quick
impulse of a lover I stopped her speech.
"You have strange ways," she said presently, blushing and
gently pressing back my arm. "I haven't told you a thing."
"Let us tell each other everything now," I cried, and we
seated ourselves in the hammock.
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