Sylvia's colour rose again. She turned slightly from him. "She didn't say much," she said.
There was a pause. Then unexpectedly Burke's hand closed over her two clasped ones. "So I've got to be punished, have I?" he said.
She shook her head, shrinking a little though she suffered his touch. "No. Only—I can't forget it,—that's all."
"Or forgive?" said Burke.
She swallowed her tears with an effort. "No, not that. I'm not vindictive. But—oh, Burke—" she turned to him impulsively,—"I wish—I wish—we could find Guy!"
He stiffened almost as if at a blow. "Why?" he demanded sternly.
For a moment his look awed her, but only for a moment; the longing in her heart was so great as to overwhelm all misgiving. She grasped his arm tightly between her hands.
"If we could only find him—and save him—save him somehow from the horrible pit he seems to have fallen into! We could do it between us—I feel sure we could do it—-if only—if only—we could find him!"
Breathlessly her words rushed out. It seemed as if she had stumbled almost inadvertently upon the solution of the problem that had so tormented her. She marvelled now that she had ever been able to endure inaction with regard to Guy. She was amazed at herself for having been so easily content. It was almost as if in that moment she heard Guy's voice very far away, calling to her for help.
And then, swift as a lightning-flash, striking dismay to her soul, came the consciousness of Burke gazing straight at her with that in his eyes which she could not—dare not—meet.