She had been sure he would. She was glad. She would be honest with
herself. She wanted him for a friend. In many ways she liked him better
than any one she had met this winter. She wanted to know more about him.

She tried to tear the letter open, but for all it was so damaged the
paper had remained tough. She would wait to read it till she reached the
summer house. That little vine-hung arbour had been in her thought ever
since Dr. Prue proposed to bring her down to the park. She had a foolish
desire to sit there and look at the river, and go on being honest with
herself.

Margaret Elizabeth, mounting the steps and looking at her letter as she
did so, was confronted by somebody who started up in surprise from the
bench where she had sat with her flowers that autumn day.

For one surprised moment she and the stranger faced each other, then
Miss Bentley exclaimed, "I saw the wagon at the gate, but I didn't know
it was yours." And then the mischief faded into simple honest gladness
as she held out her hand. "I certainly did not expect to see you," she
added, "but you are an unexpected sort of person."

"Nothing so wonderful as the chance of meeting you occurred to me for a
moment," the Candy Man assured her. "In fact I was not certain you cared
to see me." Those same pleasant eyes, so emphatically not the eyes of
Augustus, looked into hers questioningly.

Margaret Elizabeth held up the letter. "It was shipwrecked," she said.
"I got it only a few minutes ago. I haven't read it. I thought it was
you who didn't care to be friends."