"There's only one thing for us to do, and that is to go over at once."
She closed her eyes. A baffled, puzzled expression was upon her deathly pale face.
"We can sail on the Mauretania Saturday," continued he.
"I've telephoned and there are good rooms."
She turned her face away.
"Don't you feel equal to going?"
"As you say, we must."
"The trip can't do you any harm." His forced composure abruptly vanished and he cried out hysterically: "Good God! It's incredible." Then he got himself in hand again, and went on: "No wonder it bowled you out. I had my anxiety about you to break the shock. But you—— How do you feel now?"
"I'm going to dress."
"I'll send you in some brandy." He bent and kissed her. A shudder convulsed her—a shudder visible even through the covers. But he seemed not to note it, and went on: "I didn't realize how fond I was of Brent until I saw that thing in the paper. I almost fainted, myself. I gave Clélie a horrible scare."
"I thought you were having an attack," said Clélie. "My husband looked exactly as you did when he died that way."