AND THEN ALMA CAME home.
I watched her as she paddled her canoe, with long, clear-cut strokes, and I remembered what Billy Dean had said about her paddling being unmistakable.
Perhaps this was an exaggeration, but surely her method was that of an expert. She brought the pretty, graceful craft to a landing and sprang out, followed more leisurely by the gaunt figure of the ever-watchful Merry.
She wore an exceedingly becoming sports costume of white with borderings of black, and a little white felt hat with a black cockade.
I watched her as she came nearer and I realized anew that this was the one girl in the world for me. And I knew, too, that she needed a friend, needed someone to lean on, in the ordeal that was ahead of her. For whatever the outcome of the inquest, she faced new respo
