Some colour flickered into Caroline's face. She put out her hand and rested it against the door, and with that support she passed on to the landing, holding her breath to catch the first sound of the pretty voice she knew so well.
"Will she be angry with me? How will she look? What will she say?"
Thought chased thought through her brain wildly. The door was opened, but no one entered. There was a buzzing in her ears; she could not catch what passed. But as she stood there, trembling now in every limb, the cook ran up the stairs with a letter.
"For Sir Samuel, miss," she said.
Broxbourne was just behind, and he snatched the letter out of the woman's hand.
"Won't you come down, miss?" said the servant, in a hurried way. "Do come. I've made some tea for you."
But Caroline looked backwards at that moment. She had caught the sound of a muttered exclamation. She hardly knew what prompted her to send the woman away, but she did so, and she turned and went back into the drawing-room, shutting the door behind her.
Broxbourne was standing biting his moustache. His red face had turned white. He looked ugly and alarming.
"You have news from Mrs. Lancing?" Caroline said.
He looked at her, but made no answer.