“Mark could find no reason surely to object. Sacha, after all, has not offended him, if we have done so.”
A day or two later Grace spoke on this subject again.
“Mark and Sacha are quite friendly,” she told Valentine. “I saw them walking together in the grounds this morning.” Grace paused. It was evident she had something passing on her mind. “Val, have you seen Mark lately?” was her query.
Valentine looked at her an instant.
“No,” he answered; “not for some weeks. Why do you ask, Grace? Is something wrong with him?”
“He looks—terrible,” Grace said, in a low voice, pausing before the last word. “Even at some distance, I could see that he is ill—he was leaning on Sacha, walking slowly, as though he were in pain.”
Valentine knitted his brows, his pleasant face was overcast.
He answered his sister evasively.
“I expect Mark has been overdoing it. He is never strong. He treats his constitution as if it were made of cast iron instead of being a really poor affair at the best of times.”
Grace loitered in her brother’s rooms.