When she opened the door he did not greet her as usual, but spoke to her at once in a low, hurried tone.
“Mollie, where is Aimée?” he asked.
Her tears began to flow again; she could not help giving way.
“You had better come in,” she said, half turning away from him and speaking brokenly. “Aimée is not here. She left London three days ago. Dolly—”
“Dolly is worse!” he said, because she could not finish.
She nodded, with a heart too full for words.
He stepped inside, and, closing the door, laid his hand upon her shoulder.
“Then, Mollie,” he said, “I must come to you.”
He did not wait a moment, but led her gently enough into the parlor, and, blinded as she was by her tears, she saw that instant that he had not come without a reason.
“Don't cry,” he said. “I want you to be brave and calm now,—for Dolly's sake. I want your help,—for Dolly's sake, remember.”