The last part of my little speech was true. Dicky did keep a bag packed for the emergency summons he once in a while received from his clients. But I had never heard of the trip to San Francisco. But I must reassure my mother-in-law in some way.
"Well, I think it's mighty queer," she grumbled, going out of the room.
"You adorable little fibber!" Lillian said tenderly, rising, and coming over to me. Her voice was gay, but I who knew its every intonation, caught an undertone of worry.
"Lillian!" I exclaimed sharply. "What is it? Do you know anything?"
"Hush, child," she said firmly. "I know nothing. You will hear all about it tomorrow morning when you receive Dicky's letters. Until then you must be quiet and brave."
It was like her not to adjure me to keep from worrying. She never did the usual futile things. But all through my wakeful night, whenever I turned over or uttered the slightest sound, she was at my side in an instant.
Never until death stops my memory will I forget that next morning with its letters from Dicky.
There was one for my mother-in-law, none for me, but I saw an envelope in Lillian's hand, which I was sure was from my husband, even before I had seen the shocked pallor which spread over her face as she read it.
"Oh, Lillian, what is it?" I whispered in terror.
"Wait," she commanded. "Do not let your mother-in-law guess anything is amiss."