assumption of authority which rested upon the past. "Why don't you ask
me about myself? About those we knew in the old times? Have you no
longer any interest in the world? Do you know that my husband is dead?"

"Indeed, I am sorry. How long--"

"David!" She was ready to cry with vexation, but the reproach she threw
into her voice eased her.

"Did you get any of my letters? You must have got some of them, though
you never answered."

"Well, I didn't get the last one, announcing, evidently, the death of
your husband, and most likely others went astray; but I did get some.
I--er--read them aloud to Winapie as a warning--that is, you know, to
impress upon her the wickedness of her white sisters. And I--er--think
she profited by it. Don't you?"

She disregarded the sting, and went on. "In the last letter, which you
did not receive, I told, as you have guessed, of Colonel Sayther's death.
That was a year ago. I also said that if you did not come out to me, I
would go in to you. And as I had often promised, I came."

"I know of no promise."

"In the earlier letters?"

"Yes, you promised, but as I neither asked nor answered, it was
unratified. So I do not know of any such promise. But I do know of
another, which you, too, may remember. It was very long ago." He