Her friend's eyes were fixed, and empty of expression, and the fresh pervading pink of her face had paled.
"Perhaps we had better go and look for that kid," said Andrew, getting up, and I knew that he too was aware of something uncomfortable in the atmosphere. Before we could get out of the room, Dr. "Cathie" spoke.
"I see tram-lines," she said gropingly, "and water—I wonder if he's asleep——"
She sighed. Andrew and I, standing aghast, saw her colour begin to return.
Her friend's eye indicated to us the door. We closed it behind us, and shoved our way through the hall.
"I say!" said Andrew, as we got outside, "I thought she was going to chuck a fit, or have hysterics, or something. Didn't you?"
I did not answer. Cantillon, the sweep, was hurrying towards me with tidings in his face.
"Mrs. Yeates is after going to the cliff looking for the young gentleman—but sure what I was saying——"
I did not wait to hear what Cantillon's observations had been, because I had caught sight of Philippa, away in a field near the edge of the cliffs. She was running, and the boy with the white flannel jacket was in front of her. It seemed ridiculous to hurry, when I knew that Anthony had been accompanied by a large man in a yachting cap (in itself a guarantee of competency).
None the less, I ran, with the wind and the heavy raindrops in my face, across country, not round by the road, and ran the faster for seeing my wife and her companion sinking out of sight over the edge of the cliff, as by an oblique path. My way took me past the tower; there was a little plateau there, with a drooping wire fence round it, and I had a glimpse of the square black mouth of the disused shaft.