“Why–––” The girl burst into tears. Northrup tried to comfort her. “I’ve been so stirred,” the girl sobbed. “I had feelin’s–––”
“So have I, Jan-an. So have I.”
They stood in the dark for a moment and then, because there was nothing more to say––Northrup went to meet Kathryn Morris.
He went in at one of the end doors, not the middle one, and so disturbed Kathryn’s stage setting. He opened and closed the door so quietly, walked over to the fire so rapidly, that to rise and carry out her programme was out of the question, so Kathryn remained on the hearth and Northrup dropped into the chair beside her.
“Well, little girl,” he said––people always lowered their voices when speaking to Kathryn––“what is it?”
Northrup was braced for bad news. Of course Manly had given his address to Kathryn––it was something beyond the realm of letters and telegrams that had occurred; Kathryn had been sent! That Manly was not prime mover in this matter could not occur to Northrup.
“Is it Mother?” he whispered.
Kathryn nodded and her easy tears fell.
“Dead?” The word cut like a knife and Kathryn shivered. For the first she doubted herself; felt like a bungler.