And so her first thought was of herself. But her second was of the woman up-stairs—the woman who had shown her, in so brief a time, so many kindnesses, and who now lay stricken. What a dreadful culmination to a life of humiliation! She closed her eyes a moment, as though to shut out the horror of it all.
When she opened them, it was to look gravely at the two men in the room. Randall she looked at first; her eyes swept him coolly, but she was not cool. She was fighting against something that she did not wish to show upon her countenance. When she thought that it was under control, she transferred her grave glance to Vandervent.
As on that day last week when she had fainted in his office he held a glass of water in his hand. Also, his hand shook, and the water slopped over the rim of the tumbler.
She was sitting in a chair. She wondered which one of these two men had carried her there. She wanted to know at once. And so, because she was a woman, she set herself to find out.
"Mrs. Carey—she's—all right?"
She addressed the question to both. And it was Randall who replied.
"I think so—I hope so. I helped Mrs. Ragan carry her up-stairs, while Ragan waited—outside."
Clancy shuddered. She knew why Ragan waited outside, and over what he kept watch. Nevertheless, if Randall had carried Sophie up-stairs, Vandervent must have deposited herself, Clancy Deane, in this chair. An unimportant matter, perhaps, but—it had been Vandervent who picked her up. She looked at Vandervent.
"I—couldn't meet you at the train," she said.