"I think I have met him," I replied. "Was he engaged to Agnes Rayne?"

Mrs. Libby waited to pierce a loaf of cake with a broom splint. She ran
her thick fingers carefully along the splint and then turned the brown
loaf on to a sieve.

"Mrs. Hikes says she don't believe a word of it. Folks think he just
courted her one spell that summer, not real serious, just to pass the
time away, you might say, like many another young man. Mrs. Hikes says,
she never heard of him writin' to her, or anything, 'n' if he had, old
Hawkins that brings the mail couldn't have kep' it, any more'n he could
keep the news he reads off postal cards. They talked enough first about
her being love-cracked, but there wa'n't any signs of it I could hear,
excep' her trailin' 'round the beach, 'n' looking wimbly, 'n' not doin'
jus' like other folks. She never _said_ a word to anybody. Might 'a'
been it turned her some," said Mrs. Libby, thoughtfully, rolling the
flour in white scales from her heavy wrists. "Might 'a' been she was
queer any way--sending off to the city for white silk gowns, 'n' things
to wear in that old rack of boards, jus' because she was bein' courted.
Most would 'a' kep' the money 'gainst their fittin' out. I guess that
was all there was, jus' a little triflin', 'n' she took it in earnest.
Well, it don't make any difference now," she concluded coolly, as she
turned to her sink of baking-dishes.

I sat listening stupidly to her heavy tread, to the cheery clash of the
tins as she washed and put them in place. To never know any more! Yet
after all, I knew all that could be known, strangely enough. Then, with
a long shiver, I remembered the small closet beside the chimney with its
empty, dusty shelves.