“In a fortnight—in two weeks!” she said, with a little catch in her breath.
“Is the idea terrible?” he murmured, with a touch of sadness in his voice.
“No—oh, no!” she made haste to answer. “But it is so—so sudden! Two weeks——!”
He watched her anxiously, with a strange and curious watchfulness.
“Yes, it is a short notice, but, you see, it is Hobson’s choice with me. Poor men must take what is offered them, and I, as you know, Doris, am very poor, and this—well, it is a wonderful offer!”
“It comes through Mr. Spenser Churchill,” she said, as if speaking to herself.
His lips twitched, and he looked quickly at her.
“Yes—why?”
“Nothing—nothing,” she murmured, thoughtfully, and with her brows knit; “but—it is so strange!”
“What is strange, dear Doris?” he asked.