It was evident that for Ann there was only one him in the world.
"Well, what of him?"
Ann commenced speaking slowly. Under the stress of her nervousness she forgot the correct demeanor for a high-class parlor-maid and became a country girl, twisting the corner of her white, starched apron in her hands.
"I was noticing the address on that letter your Lordship gave me to post." Tabs thought quickly, "Hullo, we're in for it. That was foolish of me. She's put two and two together."
But Ann reassured him in her next sentence. "It was to a General at the War Office and I was thinking that he might help. Braithwaite and I had an
understanding. I'm not saying we were engaged; we weren't. We didn't tell anybody. But we'd made up our minds to get married if he ever came back. If I'd been engaged to him, I'd have a right to make enquiries; but now, in most people's eyes, I was nothing to him. That's—that's the hardest part of it. You see, sir, he was never reported dead or missing or anything. I just stopped hearing from him. So I thought that if this General was your Lordship's friend——"
Tabs' brain had been working. He already had a plan. "You thought that I might persuade him to use his influence to have the records searched?"
She glanced up hopefully. "That's what I was thinking. Would he do it for your Lordship? I don't know how to set about things myself. It's this—this," she almost broke down, "this uncertainty that's a-killing of me. Sister knows about her man, but I——"
Tabs saw the redness of sleeplessness in her eyes; it was true—the uncertainty was killing her. "Don't upset yourself by talking about it," he said kindly. "I'll write to the General and post my request on my way out."
He had supposed he had dismissed her and had seated himself at his desk. A sound behind him warned him; he looked across his shoulder to find her still hovering in the doorway.