“Why, what’s he got to do with it?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” came back Elizabeth, meaningly. “Now, about that there plumbing. . . .” So they went on, but a new twist had been given to Jessica’s train of thought. Why should she think of Valentine Morley now? And why should he, subconsciously, have been in her mind since she had started yesterday? Why should she feel as though, somehow, she would be safer if he were somewhere near her? Probably he had already forgotten her, she decided, after the rude manner in which she had broken up their little dinner party the night before.
And yet . . . if only he were here. Of course, he had said that she had but to call him, and he would come. But did men really mean such things when they said them? Would he actually come all the way down to Virginia just because she had called him? She was not sure of that; neither had she a reason for calling him, so far as she could see. She was in no danger; she was on her own property, in her own house. As for Teck, normally she was not afraid of him. It was only when he seemed to take possession of her, as last night, that she was afraid. Probably at this moment Mr. Morley was having lunch with some New York society girl.
Which was distinctly wrong, because at this moment Valentine Morley was lying, bound hand and foot, on a couch in Ignace Teck’s bedroom, very thirsty and very hungry—wondering where she was, and if he would ever see her again. Also, he was wondering if he would ever taste water again.
They found the cottage in fair livable condition. Most of the furniture was still there, intact, though very dusty. There was a full complement of linen,
