It dawned upon Mrs. Baron one day how long a time had passed with no mention of Polly. Ivor was not given to talking about his own affairs; and much of this abstention might be due to his excessive languor; yet such persistent silence was hardly thus to be fully accounted for. If unable to write to Polly himself; he could have sent a message. Hitherto Mrs. Baron had avoided with him all distressing subjects. She began to wonder if this plan had been wise.
"If only Jean would come!" sighed Lucille.
"Yes," Mrs. Baron replied. "Den thinks a great deal of my boy. It keeps him back. I know that. But—there is Polly too."
Lucille's face clouded slightly.
"That old affair, does it continue still, madame? Mademoiselle Keene does not write. Captain Ivor does not ask after her. May it not be that they forget?"
"Denham does not forget." Mrs. Baron saw with clearness a danger for Lucille. No answer came. Lucille hastily left the room.
Denham had been ordered to take daily exercise; and he had just started for a turn, with the help of Colonel Baron's arm. Reaching the end of the street, they turned a corner and came upon Curtis. He was hurrying along, a troubled frown upon his face.
"Ivor!—taking a stroll. You don't look like getting on much. Colonel, can I have a word with you presently—merely a trifle—business, I mean," with a hasty self-correction.
"Anything pressing?" asked the Colonel.
"N—o. That is to say—"