"Dear
me--dear both of us! That will make you twenty-five. You don't look a
day over twenty-four! But you're still Stella Vorhis?"
She met his gaze gravely; then her lids drooped and a wave of red
flushed her face.
"I am Stella Vorhis--yet."
"Meaning--for a little while yet?"
"Meaning, for a little while yet. That will come later, John Wesley.
Oh, I'll tell you, but not just now. You tell about John Wesley,
first--and remember, anything you say may be used against you. Where
have you been? Were you dead? Why didn't you write? Has the world
used you well? Sit down, Mr. John Wesley Also-Ran Pringle, and give an
account of yourself!"
He sat beside her: she laid her hand across his gnarled brown fingers
with an unconscious caress.
"It's good to see you, old-timer! Begin now--I, John Wesley Pringle,
am come from going to and fro upon the earth and from walking up and
down in it. But I didn't ask you where you were living. Perhaps you
have a--home of your own now."
John Wesley firmly lifted her slim fingers from his hand and as firmly
deposited them in her lap.
"Kindly keep your hands to yourself, young woman," he said with
stately dignity.
"Here is an exact account of all my time since I saw you: I have been
hungry, thirsty, sleepy, tired. To remedy these evils, upon expert
advice I have eaten, drunk, slept, and rested.
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