Lilly entered noiselessly. The bedroom was dark. Tears sprang to her eyes. For a moment she reeled; then she felt along the parlor wall to the middle room. By the shaft of light from the kitchen she could see the yellow note undisturbed, poised like a conspicuous butterfly. Her hand closed over it—she crushed it in her palm.
"Charley!" she called, and entered the kitchen.
Her husband was standing by the window—his face the white of cold ashes. He looked up at her like a man coming out of a dream.
"Charley," she cried, "I was afraid you'd get worried. I went over to Loo's, and we stayed up and talked so late—I didn't know—"
"I WENT OVER TO LOO's, AND WE STAYED UP AND TALKED SO LATE—I DIDN'T KNOW—"
She stopped at the sight of his face; her fear returned.
"Charley, you—you—"
He regarded her, with the life coming back into his eyes and warming his face.