Then a light sprang out in the upper hall, and she stood there, looking down at him. By the unshaded gas jet he could see her face clearly, and it shocked him; such anguish there, such terror.
“Gone!” she gasped. “Gone!”
IX
To Ross, with his rigid self-control, it seemed impossible that a human creature could safely endure such violent emotion as hers. She was so fragile; she looked ill, horribly ill, ghastly, he thought she would faint, would fall senseless at his feet. He sprang up the stairs to be with her.
“Amy!” he cried.
Her dark brows met in a somber frown; she shook her head, waving her forefinger in front of her face; an odd, foreign little gesture.
“No!” she said. “Keep quiet! Don’t speak to me. Let me think.”
“Think!” said Ross to himself. “I don’t believe you’re capable of it, my girl. But certainly you’re even less capable of listening to any one. Very well; go ahead with your thinking, then; and I’ll wait for the next development.”
He lit a cigarette, and leaned against the wall, smoking, not sorry for an interval of peace.
“Look at the time!” Amy commanded sharply. “You’ll be late getting to the station, unless you hurry. Why didn’t you remind me?”