Sanford patted her hand abstractedly, and said, “Dear Kate,” but without looking at her or replying further. He was calculating whether it would be possible for him to catch the midnight train and go to the relief of the men.
“Yes, I can just make it,” he said, half aloud, to himself. Then he turned to Sam, who stood trembling before him, looking first at Mrs. Leroy and then at his master, and said in an undertone, “Sam, send that boy for a cab, and get my bag ready. I will change these clothes on the train. Ask Mr. Hardy to step here; not a word, remember, about this telegram.”
Jack came out laughing, and was about to break into some raillery, when he saw Mrs. Leroy’s face.
Sanford touched his shoulder, and drew him one side out of sight of the inmates of the room. “Jack, there has been an explosion at the work, and some of the men are badly hurt. Say nothing to Helen until she gets home. I leave immediately for Keyport. Will you and the major please look after Mrs. Leroy?”
Sanford’s guests followed him to the door of the corridor: Helen radiant, her eyes still dancing; the major bland and courteous, his face without a ruffle; Jack and Mrs. Leroy apparently unmoved.
“Oh, I’m so sorry you must go!” exclaimed Helen, holding out her hands. “Mr. Hardy says you do nothing but live on the train. Thank you ever so much, dear Mr. Sanford; I’ve had such a lovely time.”
“My dear suh,” said the major, “this is positively cruel! This Hennessy”—he was holding his glass—“is like a nosegay; I hoped you would enjoy it with me. Let me go back and pour you out a drop before you go.”
“Why not wait until to-morrow?” said Jack in perfunctory tones, the sympathetic pressure of his hand in Sanford’s belying their sincerity. “This night traveling will kill you, old man.”
Sanford smiled as he returned the pressure, and, with his eyes resting on Helen’s joyous face, replied meaningly, “Thank you, Jack; it’s all right, I see. Not a word until she gets home.”