In my perplexity I walked to the outskirts of the village and burst
into tears.

Finally I got a grip on myself again. I am not ashamed to say that
I now admitted frankly what I had been hiding from myself. I was in
love--in love with a little, red-bearded bookseller who seemed to me
more splendid than Sir Galahad. And I vowed that if he would have
me, I would follow him to the other end of nowhere.

I walked back to the hotel. I thought I would make one more try to
get Andrew on the telephone. My whole soul quivered when at last I
heard the receiver click.

"Hello?" said Andrew's voice.

"Oh, Andrew," I said, "this is Helen."

"Where are you?" (His voice sounded cross.)

"Andrew, is there any--any message from Mr. Mifflin? That wreck
yesterday--he might have been on that train--I've been so
frightened; do you think he was--hurt?"

"Stuff and nonsense," said Andrew. "If you want to know about
Mifflin, he's in jail in Port Vigor."

And then I think Andrew must have been surprised. I began to laugh
and cry simultaneously, and in my agitation I set down the receiver.