"I mean—while I still want her to come."
"Eh?" Aunt Clara stared sharply at him. She put on her spectacles, that she might stare more effectively.
Then a light broke in on her, a light too incredible, too dazing even for Aunt Clara's confident mind. "Eh? David Quentin! Do you mean to tell me—do you mean—there is another woman? Who is she?"
He made no answer, but though his tired face went even whiter, steadily withstood her gaze.
"Such a thing never happened in our family before," Aunt Clara gasped weakly, "that I ever heard of. I don't know what to do about it."
"There is only one thing," he said steadily. "Shirley must come back at once."
Aunt Clara took off her spectacles, rubbed them mechanically and donned them again. Her hands fell nerveless to her lap.
"I don't know what to do," she repeated. "For the first time in all my existence. I—I have no precedents. You must leave me for a while until I can think this out."
He rose. "You can't think it out. I have tried."
"You'd better lie down and get some sleep. You're looking quite badly."