"Mr. Moropulos kindly gave it to me—yes—Bergen?"
"And then to Petrograd—the Czars were there, poor people—and then to Odessa, and down the Black Sea in—oh, I don't know. It was a silly journey today, Ambrose—I wasn't in the heart for a holiday."
"Is your back any worse?"
She shook her head. "No—it seems better. I nearly let myself dream about getting well. Do you think that other idea is possible? We can borrow a spinal carriage from the Institute but mother hasn't much time, and besides, I couldn't get down those narrow stairs without a lot of help. Yes—yes, yes! I know it is possible now. But the chariot, dear Ambrose?"
"I've got it!" he chuckled at her astonishment, "it will come tomorrow. It is rather like a motor-car for I have to find a garage for it. In this tiny house there is no room. But I got it—no, it didn't cost me a great deal. Dr. Merville told me where I could get one cheap. I put new tires on and the springs are grand. Christina, you will be—don't cry, Christina, please—you make me feel terrible!" His agitation had the effect of calming her.
"There must be something in this room that makes people weep," she gulped. "Ambrose—Evie is just worrying me to death."
"What is wrong?"
She shook her red head helplessly. "I don't know. She is changed—she is old. She's such a kid, too—such a kid! If that man hurts her," the knuckles of her clenched hand showed bone-white through the skin, "I'll ask you to do what you did for mother, Ambrose, give me strength for an hour—" her voice sank to a husky whisper, "and I'll kill him—kill him—"
Sault sat locking and unlocking his fingers, his eyes vacant. "She will not be hurt. I wish I were sure it was Ronald Morelle. Steppe has only to lift his finger—"
They heard the sound of Mrs. Colebrook's heavy feet on the stairs and Christina wondered why she was coming up. She had never interrupted their little talks before.