He glanced at his watch. "Yes—I had meant to be; unless——"
"No; I would rather be alone. Good-bye," she said, letting her hand slip softly along his coat-sleeve as he turned to the door.
XXXVIII
At half-past six that afternoon, just as Amherst, on his return from the mills, put the key into his door at Hanaford, Mrs. Ansell, in New York, was being shown into Mr. Langhope's library.
As she entered, her friend rose from his chair by the fire, and turned on her a face so disordered by emotion that she stopped short with an exclamation of alarm.
"Henry—what has happened? Why did you send for me?"
"Because I couldn't go to you. I couldn't trust myself in the streets—in the light of day."
"But why? What is it?—Not Cicely——?"
He struck both hands upward with a comprehensive gesture. "Cicely—everyone—the whole world!" His clenched fist came down on the table against which he was leaning. "Maria, my girl might have been saved!"