"Letitia," he said, turning toward her and trying to speak quietly, "you 'll excuse me, won't you? I 'm going to get out. Yes, I 'm going to follow her—I must. I don't know whether it's she or not, but it may be. Good night."
He was out and the door shut before Letitia could answer. As the carriage rolled on she turned and through the window followed his pursuing figure with eagerly interested eyes.
It was Viola. At the end of the block she turned into the florist's, where she had agreed to come and spend the evening helping Miss Gladys on some extra orders. She passed through the store into the room beyond, and, donning her black apron, was soon busy. The two girls were working and talking together when Gault stopped at the street door and swept the flower-scented interior with a searching gaze. He had done this at every shop on the block. Yet, though he went up and down, hunting in every corner, in every darkened doorway where she might possibly have sought shelter, she had disappeared as completely as if the passing glimpse of her had been a vision.
Letitia had evidently made a mistake. Slowly through the rain Gault walked home to his rooms.
