Yorke went off to White Place that night. He was tired, but he could not sleep in the train, though he tried. His mind was too overburdened with thought. Late as it was, the ladies were up, and they had heard the news from a servant who had brought an evening paper from town.
Its effect upon Lady Eleanor was strange, and puzzled Lady Denby at first, for Lady Eleanor let the paper drop from her hand, and stood staring before her with an expression in her eyes which was rather that of some vague dread than sorrow.
Lady Denby went to her and drew her to a couch.
"It is terribly sudden, and I am not surprised at your being upset, dear," she said. "But—What is it, Eleanor? You are not going to faint?" for Lady Eleanor had swayed and fallen back with the look of dread still in her eyes.
She recovered after a moment, and the tears came.
"Oh, poor things, poor things! Oh, it is dreadful; but God forgive me, it was not of them I was thinking but of—of Yorke and myself!"
"Of Yorke?" said Lady Denby, puzzled still.
"Yes," said Lady Eleanor, in a low and half-shamed voice. "Don't you see the—the wedding must be put off now!"
Lady Denby stroked her hand soothingly.
"Yes, of course, dear; but there is nothing in that to frighten you; for you look frightened, Eleanor."