I had seen Harter, the stranger whom we none of us knew except as the husband of Diamond Ellison, after the accident.
And it was his face which was to haunt me longest.
The theatrical litter had all been cleared away out of sight. The servants, white-faced, went about their duties as usual.
Claire remained in her room.
Quite early in the forenoon, Sallie and Mary Ambrey went down to the hospital. They saw Nancy, who was pathetically courageous, and heard that she had telegraphed to Bill’s father.
They asked for Mrs. Harter.
“She is coming round in the most extraordinary way,” said the little nurse, full of importance. “Doctor says she must have an iron constitution. But she won’t let anybody go near her—not her husband or anyone. Strange, isn’t it? She’ll be going out in a day or two; there’s nothing to keep her in for.”
The woman dropped her voice.
“She’ll be wanted to give evidence at the inquest. Dreadful, isn’t it? Doctor says they’re holding it over till to-morrow on her account.”