"Excitement? There has been no excitement," Mr. Langhope protested, quivering with the sudden renewal of fear.
"No? The child seemed nervous, uneasy. It's hard to say why, because she is unusually reserved for her age."
The medical man took his departure, and Mr. Langhope and Mrs. Ansell faced each other in the disarray produced by a call to arms when all has seemed at peace.
"I shall lose her—I shall lose her!" the grandfather broke out, sinking into his chair with a groan.
Mrs. Ansell, gathering up her furs for departure, turned on him abruptly from the threshold.
"It's stupid, what you're doing—stupid!" she exclaimed with unwonted vehemence.
He raised his head with a startled look. "What do you mean—what I'm doing?"
"The child misses Justine. You ought to send for her."
Mr. Langhope's hands dropped to the arms of his chair, and he straightened himself up with a pale flash of indignation. "You've had moments lately——!"
"I've had moments, yes; and so have you—when the child came back to us, and we stood there and wondered how we could keep her, tie her fast...and in those moments I saw...saw what she wanted...and so did you!"