“Yes,” Derrick answered in a faltering whisper, and as he said it the bedroom door closed. Both of them heard it. A shadow fell upon the sick man's face. His eyes met his friend's with a question in them, and the next instant the question put itself into words:
“Who—went out?”
Grace bent lower.
“It was Joan Lowrie.”
He closed his eyes and waited a little as if to gain fresh strength. There rose a faint flush upon his hollow cheeks and his mouth trembled.
“How”—he said next—“how—long?”
“You mean to ask me,” said Grace, “how long she has been here?”
A motion of assent.
“She has been here from the first.”
He asked no further questions. His eyes closed once more and he lay silent.