“Do it! Do it!” exclaimed Barnes. “Make up your mind to-night. Decide before you go to bed.”
“That means giving up opening a—London office.”
“You’ve too many offices already. Cut ’em down. Tell mother you’re thinking of taking a rest, and you’ll see her grow ten years younger.”
“You think that she—”
But the question was answered by the mother herself who stole through the door in her dressing-gown. Her cheeks were pale with worry. In negligee she appeared so much older and tired that Barnes was startled. He crossed to her side, placed an arm about her waist, and led her to his chair.
“What is it, mother?” he asked.
“Nothing. Only—it’s very late. What have you two been talking about?”
“Ask Dad,” he replied.
She turned her worried eyes upon her husband. The latter too saw for the first time the years in his wife’s face. He quailed.
“Horatio,” she cried, “what’s the matter? Are you ill?”