Yet as she struggled to collect her thoughts and form plans, she was conscious of a dumb, nervous cry: “What will Dudley say?... What in the world will Dudley say?”
CHAPTER XLI
He came in while she was still trying to compose herself for the struggle she anticipated; and because she had not yet made any headway, he saw at once that something alarming had happened.
He glanced at the envelope lying on the table, then at the open letter in her hand, and then at her face.
“What is the matter?... Have you had bad news?”
For one dreadful moment, observing the foreign stamp, he thought something might have happened to Ethel, who was taking her month’s holiday on the Continent. When Hal looked blankly into his face, as if quite unable to tell him, he added hurriedly:
“Is your letter about Ethel?... Is she ill?”
“No, it is not Ethel,” Hal answered, noticing, in spite of her distress, his unconcealed anxiety. “Some one is ill, but it is not Ethel.”
“Is it Lorraine?”
He spoke with quiet, kindly concern now, being reassured concerning the swift dread that had sized him.