In the dining room Nora Brewster was dusting and she looked up quickly at Bayard's entrance.
"Hello, Bruce," she said, eyes fastening on him eagerly. "You're gettin' to be a frequent caller, ain't you?"
He tried to smile when he answered,
"Hardly a caller; kind of an errand boy, between bein' a nurse an' jailer."
He could not deceive the girl. She dropped her dustcloth to a chair, scanning his face intently.
"What's wrong, Bruce? You look all frazzled out."
He could not know how she feared his answer.
"Nothin'," he evaded. "He's been pretty bad an' I've missed sleep lately; that's all."
But that explanation did not satisfy Nora. She knew it was not the whole truth. She searched his face suspiciously.