"Oh, Anne, is he?—is he?" cried Miss Teller, with as much excitement as though Anne had proved it.
"There is no probability. They have not even been able to find him," said Heathcote.
"Of course it is only my feeling," said the girl.
"But what Anne feels is no child's play," commented Miss Teller.
This remark, made in nervousness and without much meaning, seemed to touch Heathcote; he turned to the window again.
"Will you please describe to me exactly what you did from the time you left the inn to take the first walk until you came back after the river-bath?" continued Anne.
He repeated his account of the evening's events as he had first given it, with hardly the variation of a word.
"Are you sure that you took two towels? Might it not be possible that you took only one? For then the second, found at the end of the meadow trail, might have been taken by the murderer."
"No; I took two. I remember it because I put first one in my pocket, and then, with some difficulty, the other, and I spoke to Helen laughingly about my left-handed awkwardness." It was the first time he had spoken his wife's name, and his voice was very grave and sweet as he pronounced it.
Poor Miss Teller broke down again. And Anne began to see her little paper of questions through a blur. But the look of Heathcote's face saved her. Why should he have anything more to bear? She went on quickly with her inquiry.