Vane started.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “How’s Celia?”
“She’s very sick.” There was concern in Kitty’s voice. “Hartley got worse soon after you left, and she sat up all night with him after her work for the last two weeks. Now she’s broken down, and she doesn’t seem to know if they’ll take her back again at the hotel.”
“I must go and see her,” said Vane. “But won’t you and Drayton come with us and have dinner?”
Drayton explained that this was out of the question—Kitty’s employer, who had driven in that afternoon, was waiting with his team; and the party left the wharf together. A few minutes later, Vane shook hands with the girl and her companion.
“Don’t lose heart,” he said. “We’re far from beaten yet.”
They separated, and after dinner Vane, who rejoiced in the unusual luxury of clean, dry clothes, walked across to call on Nairn. He was shown into a room where Jessie Horsfield was sitting, but she rose with a slight start when he came in. Vane, who had been preoccupied since he had heard Kitty’s news, did not notice it, and Jessie’s manner was reposeful and quietly friendly when she held out her hand.
“So you have come back?” she said. “Have you succeeded in your search?”
Vane was gratified. It was pleasant to feel that she was interested in his undertaking.
“No,” he confessed. “I’m afraid I have failed.”