Helen listened appalled, her face growing whiter each moment, her lips trembling. He had met with an accident, then, after all! Her instinct had spoken truly. Her darling was ill. That explained his long silence. He had been too ill to write. He had gone through a terrible shock and he had come home ill, very ill, quite changed. Her voice faltering she said:
"What are the symptoms?"
"Monsieur's memory is so bad, madame. He forgets. Only to-day, as ze ship came up ze harbor, I ask monsieur if he expect madame to meet us at ze dock. C'est vraiment incroyable! He turned to me, with a look of ze greatest surprise, and asked: 'Who ze devil is madame?'"
"What! Didn't he seem to remember me, even?" A look of distress came over her face.
The valet shook his head.
"Non, madame." Quickly he added: "But it is nothing. It is only temporary."
"Didn't he know my sister and Mr. Steell? Didn't they greet him at the dock?"
"Yes, madame. They spoke to him and he spoke to them. But he was not himself. They seemed surprised. They will tell madame."
Helen fell back, sick and faint. Why had she not known this before? She would have gone down to meet him, thrown herself weeping into his arms. He would have known her then—who better than he would recognize that perfume he loved so well? He would have taken her in his strong arms and kissed her passionately. If he was not himself it was because he was ill. The shock had affected his memory! Poor darling husband, he must be well nursed. A few days of her devoted care and he would be all right again. Of course, it was nothing serious. Kenneth had led too clean and wholesome a life for anything grave to be the matter. If only he would come! God grant that he return to her as he went away!
As the unspoken prayer died away on her lips, there was the chugging of an automobile stopping suddenly at the curb.