“Once!” she whispered.
There was another tinkle, very softly given.
“Twice!” whispered Mary.
Then another very faint ring.
“Three?” whispered Mary; “it’s Jones.”
“It’s Revitts come home!” I said joyfully.
“No,” she said, still clinging to me. “He has the latchkey.”
“Lost it,” I said. “Let me run down and let him in.”
“No, no. Wait a moment,” said Mary faintly. “I can’t bear it yet. There’s something wrong with my poor boy.”
“There isn’t,” I cried impatiently.