He is a good man,
you can be sure." "He loves you?" I interrupted. Zoe did not answer. "He
wants to marry you?" I said, half interrogatively. "I don't believe I am
made for marriage," said Zoe. "Where do you work?" I asked.
Zoe was silent for some seconds, as if thinking. I repeated the
question. "Don't ask me that, Mr. James, don't," she said. "I know where
you are, I know where to find you. And if you need me I will come to you
if I can; but don't ask me where I am." "How can I send you money?"
"Send it to the post office. Send it to Laurette Toombs. That's my name
here. But don't try to find me again. I just pray God all the time that
I may never be of any trouble to you; and I am afraid all the time I
may." "Why?" I asked quickly. "Oh, I don't know; just because things are
what they are. I have already made you a world of trouble. And you have
been just as good to me as a brother could be. I just pray God not to
make you any more trouble. I must go." Her voice had grown full of
pathos. "Where?" I asked. "Don't follow me, Mr. James, just let me go. I
am a grown woman. I must lead my own life. Just be good to me as you
have been--don't you understand? I grieve. So be good to me, let me
manage myself and manage our meetings, whatever they are. Sit here now
while I steal away. Promise me.
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