"Jean dear, would it trouble you very much—I wish you would go to my room, and hunt for the second volume of Jean Ingelow's 'Poems.' Mrs. Trevelyan has the first, and I promised to lend her the second. You will find it upstairs—somewhere."
Jean went at once, conscious of being purposely sent away. She suspected that Evelyn might have said something in the morning to give Jem pain, and that a few words now would set the matter right. Also it might be that Evelyn wished to tell him of Cyril's reported engagement. In either case, she resolved not to find the book too quickly.
No sooner was the door shut, than Evelyn said, "You have heard bad news."
"It may not be—"
"But so far as you know—Is Mr. Trevelyan ill again?"
"No."
"Jean may be back any moment. You will not keep me in suspense! Something has happened to one of them."
"Or—to both!"
"Yes! I can bear to be told. Go on, please."
No answer came, and she asked, "Is it illness?"