“Marx must come back at once,” he said, with something of his old firmness. “I shall send him a telegram to-morrow to return immediately.”
“And if he doesn’t come?”
“I must go to him. This matter must be cleared up as far as it can be and at once.”
“Your guests,” I reminded him. “How can you leave them?”
“I forgot them,” he exclaimed impatiently. “Philip, will you go?” he asked suddenly.
“Yes,” I answered quietly, although my heart was beating fast. “Yes, I will go. Perhaps it would be best.”
He let his hand rest for a moment upon my shoulder, and, though he did not say so, I knew that he was pleased. Then he glanced at the clock.
“Two o’clock!” he exclaimed. “Philip, you must leave me now.”
I looked towards his writing-table, at which he was already seating himself, and hesitated.
“You are not going to write now?” I ventured to protest.