This
has already happened in the matter of the money, for example. The name,
too, was selected long before the disappearance. That explains the
letter you saw. I didn't dare tell this earlier in the story,--I feared
to reveal too suddenly what had become of Murray Davenport. It was best
to break it as I have, was it not?"
He looked at Florence wistfully, as if awaiting judgment. She made an
involuntary movement of drawing away, and regarded him with something
almost like repulsion.
"It's so strange," she said, in a hushed voice. "I can't believe it. I
don't know what to think."
Turl sighed patiently. "You can understand now why I didn't want to tell.
Perhaps you can appreciate what it was to me to revive the past,--to
interrupt the illusion, to throw it back. So much had been done to
perfect it; my dearest thought was to preserve it. I shall preserve it,
of course. I know you will keep the secret, all of you; and that you'll
support the illusion."
"Of course," replied Larcher. Edna, for once glad to have somebody's lead
to follow, perfunctorily followed it. But Florence said nothing. Her mind
was yet in a whirl. She continued to gaze at Turl, a touch of bewildered
aversion in her look.
"I had meant to leave New York," he went on, watching her with cautious
anxiety, "in a very short time, and certainly not to seek any of the
friends or haunts of the old cast-off self. But when I got into the
street that night, after you and Mr. Bud had passed me, Larcher, I fell
into a strong curiosity as to what you and he might have to say about
Davenport.
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