"So kindly meant! But what use?" she asked despairingly. "Nothing can undo it! And how can I bear to be here—out of reach? How can Evelyn bear it? If news were to come—But she will not wish to stay now—now I know it."
Jean passed quickly out of the room, sending no glance towards the old lady, whose very existence she had forgotten, and hastened upstairs. Entering the room, she found herself face to face with—Jem!
Jean showed no surprise, and forgot to shake hands. It seemed perfectly natural that Jem should be there. She came near, without a word, not knowing how altered was her own look. A quick interchange of glances passed between the other two. It was evident to both of them that Jean had some idea of the truth. Evelyn, much distressed, laid her hands on Jean's, which were rigid as iron.
"Mr. Trevelyan has so kindly come, dear," she faltered, "to—to see—if we—"
"No, no! To tell us—" urged Jean hoarsely. "To tell us—"
"Yes: to tell us just a little more. You are right. Dear Jean, we have tried to keep it from you, till we could be sure—and we are not really sure yet. But I am afraid—Have you guessed anything?"
"Not guessed! A paper—downstairs—" Jean had difficulty in saying the words. Her throat seemed to close with the effort; and she waited impatiently for them to speak.
"What did the paper say?" Jem was uncertain still how much she understood. "Something about the 'Spanish Gipsy?'"
"I know! I know! Gone down! And they—they—they—" She turned on him a face of agony.
"Tell her!" begged Evelyn, bursting into tears. "O tell her quickly."