One morning when he was up early he took in the letters and found one from Minna addressed to Mary. He watched Mary read it at breakfast. Without looking up she thrust it back into its envelope, her hand trembling so that the paper rustled, and slipped it into her pocket.
“Who’s your letter from,” asked Mrs. Folyat. Francis held his breath.
“It’s from Fawcett’s, the music-publishers. They haven’t got the piece I wanted. Perhaps I didn’t give the name right.”
Francis breathed again.
Mary disappeared soon after breakfast. She went to Serge’s studio. He was out. She waited for him all day and had nothing to eat. She did not even light the gas but sat thinking, thinking on no thought. Serge found her in the dark.
“Why, Mary!” he said.
She held out Minna’s letter, and he sat and read it.
“Have you told anybody at home?”
“No. It’s too awful.”