He could just see her in the darkness, a little white, shadowy form, as she stood slightly away from him now. One of her hands was pressed in an agitated way to her face and eyes; the other still held tightly to the throat of her dressing gown.
"Oh, yes, it's plain, guardy," she whispered miserably. "It's—it's too plain. Poor, poor Mr. Marlin! What are we to do? It would hurt Dora terribly if she knew her father had done this. I—I can't tell her."
"Of course, you can't," said Captain Francis Newcombe gravely. "Your position is even more delicate than mine was the other night. I do not see that you can do anything—except to say nothing about it to any one for the present."
"Yes," she agreed numbly.
She began to move toward the door.
"It's not likely to happen again," said Captain Francis Newcombe reassuringly; "and, anyway, you can make sure it won't by just leaving the receiver off the hook. Do that, Polly." And then, solicitously: "But you're not frightened any more now, are you, Polly? A mystery explained loses its terror, doesn't it? And, besides, the main thing was to know that your mother was all right."
"My mother—"
He thought he heard her catch her breath in a quick, sudden half sob.
"It's all right, Polly," he said hastily. "Don't think of that part of it any more. Everything's all right."
"Yes; I—I know." Her voice was very low. "It's—all right. I—good-night, guardy."