Shocked with pitying horror, Auntie Sue paused.
The man's haggard, unshaven face twitched and worked with the pain of
his suffering. He bit his lips and fingered his quivering chin in a vain
effort at self-control; and then, as he looked up at her, the sunken,
bloodshot eyes filled with tears that the tormented spirit had no power
to check.
And Auntie Sue turned her face away.
For a little, they stood so. Then, as Auntie Sue faced him again, the
stranger, with a supreme effort of his will, gained a momentary control
of his shattered nerves. Drawing himself erect and standing steady and
tall before her, he raised a hand to his uncovered head as if to remove
his hat. When his hand found no hat to remove, he smiled as if at some
jest at his own expense.
"I am so sorry, madam," he said,--and his voice was musically clear and
cultured. "Please pardon me for disturbing you? I did not know. This
young woman should have explained. You see, when she spoke of 'Auntie
Sue,' I assumed, of course,--I mean,--I expected to find a native woman
who would--" He paused, smiling again, as if to assure her that he fully
appreciated the humor of his ridiculous predicament.
"But, my dear sir," cried Auntie Sue, eagerly, "there is nothing to
pardon. Please do come into the house and let us help you."
But the stranger drew back, shaking his head sadly.
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