“There was only one thing for it—to go round and see her. Whatever happened I had to prevent her coming to the theatre. How I was going to do it without giving the show away I hadn’t an idea, but somehow or other it had got to be done. My blundering foolishness—even though it had been for the best—had caused the trouble; it was up to me to try and right it. So I went round and found her with a doctor in the sitting-room. He was just going as I came in, and his face was grave.
“ ‘Harry’s dying,’ she said to me quite simply, and I glanced at the doctor, who nodded.
“Poor child! I crossed over to her side, and though it seems an awful thing to say, my only feeling was one of relief. After what Lawrence had said I knew it was hopeless, and since the poor devil had to go he couldn’t have chosen a more opportune moment from my point of view. It solved the difficulty. If he was dying she couldn’t come to the theatre, and by the time the funeral was over Molly would be back. I didn’t realise that one doesn’t get out of things quite as easily as that.
“ ‘I’ve only just realised how bad he was,’ she went on in a flat, dead voice.
“ ‘Does he know?’ I asked.
“ ‘No. He thinks he’s going to get better. Why didn’t you send for me last night, Mr. Trayne?’
“It was so unexpected, that I hesitated and stammered.
“ ‘I couldn’t get at you in time,’ I said finally. ‘Miss Travers only became ill late in the afternoon.’
“With a strange look on her face she opened a paper—some cursed rag I hadn’t seen.
“ ‘It says here,’ she went on slowly, ‘that she was confined to her bed all yesterday. Oh! it doesn’t matter much, does it?’ She put the paper down wearily, and gave the most heartrending little sobbing laugh I’ve ever heard.