Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1940-07-05
CHAPTER II

rible in its anger. He put Sara from
him firmly, so that she covered into
her corner of the seat, her eyes dark
and hurt in her white face. He said,
eff March wants a divorce she can
have it. I wouldn't hold her. But
the first move must come from her.
Do you understand" He started the
motor and it seemed to Sara that his
hand, in the faint glow from the dash
board, trembled little. His jaw was
grim, his eyes fixed straight ahead,
as he piloted the car along the curving
road. After a long while he said,
"We had better forget tonight ever
happened, Sara. I'm--sorry if hurt
you, but that's the way things are,
the way they'll have to be-"
Sara said no word. Her thoughts
seethed with hatred for March, who,
even yet and after all that had hap
pened, was so strangely entrenched
in Brent's heart that there was no
dislodging her. The anger and re-
sentiment that burned in Sara were
all for March, not Brent. March was
to blame for his attitude. Once she
was irrevocably lost to him, Sara felt
confident she could win him over. He
had cared for her once, long ago, be-
fore March came into his life. There
was no reason to suppose he could not
care again. Not as she cared, per-
haps, but enough Sara had no
pride, no scruples in this matter. She
loved Brent too utterly to be deferred
from the course that was already
shaping itself in her mind.
What was it Brent had said? eff
March want a divorce, l wouldn't hold
her. But the first move must come
from her."
Sitting there, with tears drying on
her lashes and hatred in her heart,
Sara smiled family, but without bit
terness. Perhaps something could be
done about that first move.
She said goodnight to Brent almost
absently. Driving the short distance
to her own home, her thoughts were
busy. She didn't know March's sd-
dress, but that was minor obstacle.
Sara's mother had sister who lived
in Chicago. She would write Aunt
Louise, Sara decided, explaining that
she was enclosing letter to a friend
whose address she had mislaid. 1t
would be a simple matter for her aunt
to look March up in the directory and
forward the letter.
The house was quiet as Sara let
herself in and dark but for the hall
light which had been left burning for
her. She sighed small sigh of salts
faction, tip-toeing past her mothers
closed door. Now there need be no
delay, no necessity for tiresome ex-
plantations. She could write March
Randolph at once, while the things
she meant to say were so clear in her
mind, while her determination was
fresh and unfaltering.
After Conchita's marriage to Pete
and their immediate departure for
New York, March was lonelier than
ever. Only Clay Saunders kindness,
his .unfailing attention, made life bear
able. Without him she sometimes
wondered how she would have sur
vived the dreary months of her sepa-
ration from Brent. The hope she had
entertained at first, the desperate GER
tainty that Brent must write to her,
died slowly, leaving in its place sort
of lethargy totally alien to March's
nature. Nothing seemed very impor-
tant any more. She lived from day to
day, looking no farther back than yes
terday, no farther ahead than tomor-
row.
One blustery night in November
she let herself into her apartment to
the insistent ringing of the phone. The
feminine voice at the other end of the
wire was unfamiliar until its owner
prompted pleasantly Remember me?
I'm Griff Morgan's sister,"
March murmured, swallowing her
surprise, "Of course 1 remember YOU"
And then, care you here in Chicago?"
1t seemed the Countess Cassano was
visiting the friends at whose pent-
house March had dinner last summer
with Griff. 1t seemed she wanted to
see March. She suggested luncheon
the following day and March agreed.
They decided upon time and place
and said goodnight. March replaced
the receiver and stood there, feeling
rather baffled. Why should Griff's
sister trouble to seek her out? Their
acquaintanceship seemed almost too
slioht to warrant the friendlu oestl1re