"Nerves," she retorted, and he somehow felt that her lips were set and drawn.
"You must get to bed right away. Hot bath, mustard, and all that. I'll not stop for dinner. Thanks just the same. I will be over in the morning."
"When will you sail?" she asked, after a moment.
"I can't go for ten days, at least. My mother goes into the hospital next week for an operation, as I've told you. I can't leave until after that's over. Nothing serious, but—well, I can't go away. I shall write to Hetty to-night, and cable her to-morrow. By the way, I—I don't know just where to find her. You see, we were not to write to each other. It was in the bargain. I suppose you don't know how I can—"
"Yes, I can tell you precisely where she is. She is in Venice, but leaves there to-morrow for Rome, by the Express."
"Then you have been hearing from her?" he cried sharply.
"Not directly. But I will say this much: there has not been a day since she landed in England that I have not received news of her. I have not been out of touch with her, Brandon, not even for an hour."
"Good heaven, Sara! You don't mean to say you've had her shadowed by—by detectives," he exclaimed, aghast.
"Her maid is a very faithful servant," was her ambiguous rejoinder.