"Yes. Ed told me. Now, don't talk about it. Here's some hot coffee."
"Never mind my coat. I'm too tired. You know about Courtney Thane?"
"I only know they're hunting for him. There's a man out in the kitchen. Is—is it in connection with Rosabel's death?"
"No. Thank you, Auntie. That feels better. I haven't had it off since morning. Charlie told me about Thane, but I am not sure whether I can get it straight. He was so excited,—and I was so distressed."
Her voice was low and husky with fatigue and emotion; it was apparent that she controlled it with difficulty. In her dark eyes there was a brooding, haunted look. She repeated as best she could Charlie's rambling, disjointed story.
"And just to think," cried Mrs. Strong at the end, "you let that beast kiss you and—"
"Oh, don't! Don't!" cried the girl, covering her eyes with her hands. "I can't bear the thought of it. I wasn't myself. I don't know what came over—"
"There, there! Don't think about it any more. It's all right now. And you're not the only woman that's lost her head since God made Adam, my dear. It's pretty hard not to sometimes. You—"
"Oh, I couldn't,—I COULDN'T have done anything bad. I couldn't—"
"God bless you, of course you couldn't," cried the older woman, stroking the girl's hair. "Do you think this coffee will keep you awake?" She poured out a steaming cup and dropped two lumps of sugar into it.