“Thank you,” she said, sinking down upon the arm of an easy-chair. “first of all, then, Arthur is here because he is my brother.”
“Your brother!” Laverick repeated wonderingly.
Somehow or other, he had never associated Morrison with relations. Besides, this meant that she must be of his race. There was nothing in her face to denote it except the darkness of her eyes, and that nameless charm of manner, a sort of ultra-sensitiveness, which belongs sometimes to the highest type of Jews. It was not a quality, Laverick thought, which he should have associated with Morrison’s sister.
“My brother, in a way,” she resumed. “Arthur’s father was a widower and my mother was a widow when they were married. You are surprised?”
“There is no reason why I should be,” he answered, curiously relieved at her last statement. “Your brother and I have been connected in business for some years. We have seen very little of one another outside.”
“I dare say,” she continued, still timidly, “that Arthur’s friends would not be your friends, and that he wouldn’t care for the same sort of things. You see, my mother is dead and also his father, and as we aren’t really related at all, I cannot expect that he would come to see me very often. Last night, though, quite late—long after I had gone to bed—he rang the bell here. I was frightened, for just now I am all alone, and my servant only comes in the morning. So I looked out of the window and I saw him on the pavement, huddled up against the door. I hurried down and let him in. Mr. Laverick,” she went on, with an appealing glance at him, “I have never seen any one look like it. He was terrified to death. Something seemed to have happened which had taken away from him even the power of speech. He pushed past me into this room, threw himself into that chair,” she added, pointing across the room, “and he sobbed and beat his hands upon his knees as though he were a woman in a fit of hysterics. His clothes were all untidy, he was as pale as death, and his eyes looked as though they were ready to start out of his head.”
“You must indeed have been frightened,” Laverick said softly.
“Frightened! I shall never forget it! I did not sleep all night. He would tell me nothing—he has scarcely spoken a sensible word. Early this morning I persuaded him to go upstairs, and made him lie down. He has taken two draughts which I bought from the chemist, but he has not slept. Every now and then he tries to get up, but in a minute or two he throws himself down on the bed again and hides his face. If any one rings at the bell, he shrieks. If he hears a footfall in the street, even, he calls out for me. Mr. Laverick, I have never been so frightened in my life. I didn’t know whom to send for or what to do. When he wrote that note to you I was so relieved. You can’t imagine how glad I am to think you have come!”
Laverick’s eyes were full of sympathy. One could see that the scene of last night had risen up again before her eyes. She was shrinking back, and the terror was upon her once more. He moved over to her side, and with an impulse which, when he thought of it afterwards, amazed him, laid his hand gently upon her shoulder.
“Don’t worry yourself thinking about it,” he said. “I will talk to your brother. We did have words, I’ll admit, last night, but there wasn’t the slightest reason why it should have upset him in this way. Things in the city were shocking yesterday, but they have improved a great deal to-day. Let me go upstairs and I’ll try and pump some courage into him.”