“Well, you haven’t got on very fast in your packing, have you, dear?”
Helen was leaning against the back of a chair, feeling she was surely going to topple over in a swoon. Summoning all her reserve of nerve power, she strove to reply naturally:
“No. I––I didn’t quite understand how to pack.”
He was at her side now and seized both her hands.
“Why, Helen, what’s the matter? Your hands are cold as ice.”
He spoke warmly and tenderly, while at the same time his eyes were everywhere about the room and he was listening with the wary alertness of a rodent.
There was more than a little of the rat in the soul inclosed in this splendid envelope.
“It’s nothing––only I’m faint,” she said tremulously.
“That policeman has been talking to you––hasn’t he?” he said quietly.