IXIt was two days later that she spoke to Lilian.
“You said you had a letter about me from Jim. Might I see it?”
Lilian stared at her, a little offended as it seemed.
“Well, I don’t know. Yes, I suppose so—if you really want to. I think I kept it.”
Something like a half-struck match went off in the darkness of Anne’s mind. There wasn’t time for her to see anything by the light of it, but there was something there to be seen, she was sure about that. It was gone in a flash, but it had been there. She said,
“It might help me to remember, if you don’t mind.”
Lilian had gone over to her writing-table. She opened a drawer and began to fuss over the papers that were in it.
“Miss Porson ... dear, dear, I must remember to write. And Mary Jacks ... One really ought not to put letters away, o
