"When?"
"About ten o'clock."
"You saw him?"
"Yes; Isabel and I were playing tennis, and I saw him go. When he came back, I met him, and he looked so queer that I asked him if anything was the matter."
"Queer? How?"
"Dark, sort of, under his eyes, and—scared."
"Phebe," the doctor looked at her steadily, searchingly; "is this all true?"
"Yes."
He took a quick turn up and down the room.
"And I thought the fellow was true as steel," he muttered to himself. "Those eyes ought to be true. Poor fellow! I wish Bess were here to talk to him."