When Bent came into the room a moment later they were both aware of the imminence of important revelations. Camilla had not seen him for two months, and she was conscious of a slight sense of shock at his appearance. Jeff, too, noted that he was very pale and that in his eyes there hung a shadow of the misfortune that had marked them all.
At the door Cortland turned to Mrs. Berkely who had met him in the hall.
"If you don't mind, Gretchen, I'd like to speak to him alone." And, when Camilla would have gone, "No, Camilla, it concerns you, too." While they wondered what was coming he walked past Camilla and put a hand on Jeff's shoulder, the lines in his face softening gently.
"They've told me, Jeff. I know. I've come to offer you my hand." And, as Jeff still stared at him uncertainly, "You won't refuse it, will you!"
There was a nobility in the simple gesture, a depth of meaning in the quiet tones of his voice. Camilla alone knew what those few words were costing him, and she watched Jeff, who was standing as though he had been turned to stone, his head bent forward upon his breast, his deep-set eyes peering under his brows as General Bent's had often done. His eyes found Cortland's at last, searching them keenly, but he found in them only a small bright flame of fellowship among the embers of regret. Jeff's fingers twitched a little, then his hand came forward impulsively, and the two men clasped hands.
"I'm sorry, Jeff—I am—from the bottom of my heart. I want you to understand."
"I do," said Jeff, with difficulty. "I didn't want you to know——"
"I'm glad. I think it's better so."
He paused a moment before going on. "I want—I want you and Camilla to go right back with me. Can you? That's what I came to ask. Father is ill."
"Ill?" stammered Jeff.