Just as they were on the verge of starting she
caught a glimpse of Coldevin, who stood on the dock half hidden behind a
pile of boxes. She jumped out of the boat and called:
"Coldevin! I want to see you!"
It was impossible to avoid her; he stepped forward and took off his hat.
She gave him her hand. Where in the world had he kept himself all this
time? Dear me, why was he never to be seen? It began to look a little
strange--really it did.
He stammered an excuse, spoke about library work, a translation from a
book, an absolutely necessary bit of work....
But she interrupted and asked where he lived now. She had looked for him
at the hotel but was told that he had left; nobody knew where he had gone.
She had also had a glimpse of him on the seventeenth; she was in the Grand
and saw him march by in the parade.
He repeated his excuses and trotted out the old joke about the impropriety
of disturbing sweethearts too much. He smiled good-naturedly as he spoke.
She observed him carefully. His clothes were threadbare, his face had
become thinner, and she wondered suddenly if he were in want. Why had he
left the hotel, and where did he live? He said something about a friend, a
college chum--honest, a teacher, a splendid fellow.
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