He broke off suddenly, jerked up his hand, and stared at it strangely. “Well, I’ll be dashed!”
She bent forward quickly. “What’s the matter, Jack?”
He flexed his fingers, shook his head with some confusion, and, turning, leaned over and examined the big desk. “Don’t know,” he said awkwardly; “probably only writer’s cramp; but it never took me before. Perhaps I’d better get a typewriter, though I hate the things.”
Edith was about to speak when there came an almost inaudible knock at the door, and Perkins entered.
“If you please, madam, Mr. and Mrs. Thursby are walking up the drive.”
“Thank you; please bring them in here. And, Perkins—”
“Yes, madam?”
“It—it doesn’t matter now. I’ll see you afterward.”
The woman went out, and Derrick glanced at his sister with genuine curiosity. This was very unlike her.
“I say, Edith, what’s up?”