"Trevor!" She turned to him with eyes of sudden horror—horror so definite that it swamped all her personal shrinking. "How is he ill? You—you have hurt him!"
"I have done nothing to him," Mordaunt answered. "He is suffering from heart-disease, and cannot be moved. I must start from Charing Cross in an hour. Will you come with me?"
"To go to him?" Her eyes were still dilated, but they did not waver from his.
"To go to him." He repeated the words with precision, and waited for her answer.
But Chris sat in silence, her hands in Jack's.
"Look here," Noel broke in abruptly, "if Chris goes, I go."
"Very well," Mordaunt said. "If Chris desires it, you may."
Chris came out of her silence with a little shudder, and turned to the man beside her. "Jack, tell me what to do!"
"I think you had better go, dear," Jack said.
"But if—but if—oh, is he very ill?" She looked again at her husband.