Mrs. Bruce regarded him, her lips apart.
After a pause he spoke in his ordinary voice.
“We planned last evening that the Yellowstone party should go on a picnic to-day with Captain Salter. Do you care to go?”
She shook her head.
“Nor I. I would give a great deal to have this day, alone.” Again his throat closed.
“To mourn! to mourn!” thought Mrs. Bruce, wretchedly.
“But I can’t. I must go at once to see the captain, and then up to the inn. Good-by, Madama.” He approached and laid a hand on her shoulder. He realized the blow he had given her. “We must do the best we can,” he said, and left the room.
She stood there, long, in the same position.
“I wonder,” she thought confusedly, “if I am not the most miserable woman in the world.”
After a while she moved, and spoke through a tube which led to the kitchen. She told Alice that she would not need to get any dinner. Then she went to her room and closed the door. Stillness reigned again but for the subdued roar of waves.