“Yes,” Hal said nervously. “She is very ill. Dudley, I must go to her at once.”
She got up as if she could not bear the strain seated, and moved away to the window.
“It’s all rather terrible,” speaking hurriedly; “but don’t... don’t... be upset about it. I can’t bear it. I must go, whatever you say, and I want you to help me.”
“What is the matter?” He came close to her and tried to see her face. “What has happened, Hal?”
“Lorry is in trouble.” She was half crying now; “I have had a letter from Jean. She has told me something I did not know. I did not even suspect it. But I must go. You will surely see that I must go, Dudley.”
“Tell me what it is,” he said, in a voice so kind, she turned and looked into his face, almost in surprise. He met her eyes, and, reading all the distress there, he added:
“Don’t be afraid, Hal. I know I was an awful prig a little while ago, but... but... it’s not the same since Doris jilted me, and since Basil died. I see many things differently now. Tell me Lorraine’s trouble.”
“She is so ill, because if she lives until next December she will have a little one. Oh, do you understand, Dudley? She is there all alone, because she made a mess of her life and is obliged to hide. I must go to her. You will help me, won’t you?”
She glanced at him doubtfully, and then a swift relief seemed to fill her face.
“Yes, certainly you must go,” he said gravely; “if Jean says she is ill now, I think you should go at once, and see for yourself just how things are.”