The heart of his fond mother must have been melted with love and pity had she gazed on the distressed face, and noted the restless tossing of the wearied body, to which sleep seemed to bring no refreshment.
The day came in its inevitable course.
Lady Quaintree and Lois made sure that they would see Captain Desfrayne during the afternoon. Ordinary etiquette, if no other feeling, must bring him to inquire how the young ladies fared after their fright.
Lady Quaintree did not attempt to induce Lois to confide in her. Lois, on her side, did not volunteer any remark beyond a very few dry commonplaces regarding the rescue of herself and Blanche Dormer from their perilous situation. The young girl made no sign whereby Lady Quaintree could judge of the state of her feelings.
Both were prepared to wait with a kind of painful uncertainty for Captain Desfrayne’s coming. Each wished, for different reasons, that this journey had never been undertaken.
Had any rational excuse been at hand, each would have urged an immediate return to London.
The question was settled very unexpectedly. As the three ladies rose from breakfast, a servant came in very hurriedly, the bearer of a telegram directed to Lady Quaintree.
Her ladyship’s hand trembled slightly as she took the paper from the salver, and she hesitated for a moment before breaking the envelope.
Telegrams, when unexpected, are always more or less alarming, and Lady Quaintree could not think of any possible good reason why any one should address one to her. She took it out, however, and, putting on her gold-rimmed spectacles, read the curt sentences: