could she give Mamie for her presence here? She must make no such blunder as that! Louise Bartholomew, if on her scent at all, would be sure to take note of the place from which she called Mamie, and its proximity to the resort where she had discovered her last night with Dr. Booth. Better wait until this town, whatever and wherever it was, was well behind her, Reba concluded.
It was after some minutes' careful consideration that she finally decided that a letter to Miss Ellsworth would arouse the least suspicion—a brief, non-committal letter. Reba was always brief and non-committal. They wouldn't wonder at that. It happened that Miss Ellsworth had spoken to her but a week ago, about her vacation, saying she could fill her place without inconvenience just at present. True, Reba had told her she didn't want the vacation, but her mother's illness would be excuse enough to offer for her change of mind, also for the suddenness of her leave-taking.
She must get hold of some blank paper and an envelope downstairs somewhere and write to Miss Ellsworth at once, and if it were possible to reach Ridgefield by evening, her letter bearing the postmark of the home-town would be in Miss Ellsworth's Monday morning mail. Corroborating this letter would be a postcard, mailed also in Ridgefield, to Mamie, asking her to pack her trunk for her and send it along. All these details of procedure presented themselves to Reba before she had left the miserable hotel-room.
When at last she found herself seated on the dark red plush seat of a jerky way-train, zigzagging a crooked course southwest of Boston, she drew in a deep sigh. But it was not a sigh of relief. A day
