"My dear Miss Holladay," he began, but she stopped him abruptly with a little imperative motion of the hand.
"Pray do not," she whispered hoarsely. "Pray do not."
He stopped and pulled himself together. When he spoke again, it was in quite a different tone.
"I have brought the money you asked for," and he handed her the package.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Will you verify the amount?"
"Oh, no; that is not necessary."
"I have a receipt here," and he produced it and his fountain-pen. "Please sign it."
She took the pen with trembling fingers, laid the receipt upon her chair-arm without reading, and signed her name with a somewhat painful slowness. Then she leaned back with a sigh of relief, and buried her face in her hands. Mr. Royce placed the receipt in his pocket book, and stopped, hesitating. But the maid had opened the door and was awaiting us. Her mistress made no sign; there was no excuse to linger. We turned and followed the maid.
"Miss Holladay seems very ill," said Mr. Royce, in a voice somewhat tremulous, as she paused before us in the lower hall.