"That's right. Now we are comfortable." But the last word was not completed. It seemed that it froze upon his lips. He stopped, looked for a second into space, and then, dropping his arm from about his wife's waist, he deliberately moved aside from her, and made a space between them.
"Now we are in our proper places--the four of us," he said bitterly,
"The three of us," Glynn corrected, as he walked round the table. "Where's the fourth?"
And then there came to him this extraordinary answer given in the quietest voice imaginable.
"Between my wife and me. Where should he be?"
Glynn stared. There was no one in the room but Linda, Thresk, and himself--no one. But--but--it was the loneliness of the spot, and its silence, and its great distance from his world, no doubt, which troubled him. Thresk's manner, too, and his words were having their effect. That was all, Glynn declared stoutly to himself. But--but--he did not wonder that Linda had written so urgently for him to come to her. His back went cold, and the hair stirred upon his scalp.
"Who is it, then?" he cried violently.
Linda rose from the sofa, and took a quick step towards him.. Her eyes implored him to silence.
"There is no one," she protested in a low voice.
"No," cried Glynn loudly. "Let us understand what wild fancy he has! Who is the fourth?"