"I'm Alice Tarporley."
"Oh yes! You were a friend of Vio's before we were married. I've heard
her speak of you; but you lived in Denver."
"I went back to Boston only two years ago, when poor Vio was in such
trouble because you were--" She cried out, with another wide motion of
the arms: "In the name of God, man, what does it all mean?"
But I couldn't go into explanations. I didn't know where to begin.
"Tell me first how Vio is--where she is."
"She was perfectly well the day before yesterday, and at your own house
in Boston. But don't you know, don't you know--? Why, this is too
awful! The more I think of it the more awful it becomes. Don't you
know--?"
"I--I don't know anything."
She got it out at last.
"Don't you know--Vio thinks you're--you're _dead_?"
Iron clampings seemed to press me round the ribs.
"No; I didn't know that. What made her think so?"
"Who wouldn't think so? You were reported missing--and when weeks went
by--and no news of you--and then, when your uniform was found on the
bank of that river, near Tours, wasn't it? and your papers in the
pockets--and your letter of credit, and everything-- And here you are
in New York, going under another name, working like a stevedore, and
looking like a tramp! Why, it's enough to drive anybody crazy!"