There was then nothing to be done.
But the next day was even more trying than the one before. The morning wore on and there was no news of Elza. Anxiety for her friend was added to the heavy load which Rosemary had to bear. Anxiety and this unexpected uncertainty, which was positive torture.
Jasper, on the other hand, had become both helpful and sympathetic. Already the day before he had announced his intention of accompanying Rosemary to London. At first she had protested, but he looked so contrite and so abashed that she relented, and said more graciously:
"It is more than kind of you, dear, to suggest it, but I really am quite capable of looking after myself."
"I don't doubt it," he had replied with a sigh, "but I, too, have certain privileges, chief of which is looking after your welfare—and your safety."
She laughed. "I am perfectly safe. No one is going to run away with me."
"You might have trouble on the frontier."
"Not very likely," she retorted, "with a British passport."
Jasper had made no further remark just then, and the subject was dropped. But Rosemary knew from his manner and his look that he intended to accompany her. It would be no use protesting, though she had the feeling that she would so much rather have travelled alone.
But when the morning of the next day went by without news of Elza, Jasper was ready with a fresh suggestion. "Let me go to London for you," he said. "I could see the editor of the Times and ask him in any case to withhold publication until he heard from you. Then after that if Elza's decision went the other way, you could always wire or write again."