At last he began, and there was a strained thrill in his voice as if it were an effort to open his lips.
'It has been my ... fate ... Brenda, to be with you or near you during most of the incidents in your life ...' here he paused.
'Yes,' she murmured unsteadily.
'I have,' he continued, 'perhaps, been of some small use to you. I have been happy enough at times to tell you good news, and ... and once or twice I have been the messenger of evil.... Now...'
'Now,' interrupted Brenda suddenly, as she came towards him, for a light had broken upon her—'now you have bad news, Theo? Surely you are not afraid of telling it to me!'
'I don't exactly know,' he answered slowly, laying his hand upon the white fingers resting on his sleeve, 'whether it is good news or bad. Huston is dead!'
She had continued smiling bravely into his eyes until the last words were spoken, then suddenly she turned her face away. He watched the colour fade from her cheek, slowly sinking downward until her throat was like marble. Then she withdrew her hand deliberately from his touch, as if there had been evil in it. After a moment she turned again and looked keenly at him with wondering, horror-struck eyes.
'Then,' she murmured monotonously, 'Alice is ... a widow.'
It was a strange thing to say, and she had no definite conception of the train of thought prompting the remark. He looked at her in a curious, puzzled way, like a man who is near a truth, but fears to prove his proximity.
'Does she know?' she asked suddenly, rousing herself to the necessity of prompt action.