He took up another and paused—paused while his face grew old…. A third he took from another tray and touched it to his tongue…. A fourth from the third tray…. A fifth….
Then his fist flew up and fell on the edges of two trays so that the contents shot up like a spray in sunshine and scattered over the room. In a strangled voice he yelled—
"Paste, by God! We're tricked!"
The door opened; the curtain was drawn aside.
"Father! Who was that dreadful man who—"
In the stifling silence, Doris, home hours before her time, stood there in dance gown and white cloak, a latch-key in her hand, her eyes wide with wonder—wonder that gave place to horror.
CHAPTER XV
It would have been beyond Teddy France to describe clearly his own feelings as he waited in the Lancasters' drawing-room late on the following afternoon. His dearest friend was alive; his dearest hope was dead. Yet how could he be otherwise than glad, if only on Doris's account? Early in the day he had sent her a note, express, begging her to be at home at five. This meant questionings and reproaches from Mrs. Lancaster, for she and her daughter had what she deemed a most important social engagement; but the girl was firm, and eventually the mother went off alone in a sullen temper.
In any case, Doris would have revolted from tea and tattle that afternoon. She had suffered a great shock the previous night. And since Teddy's note had suggested something most urgent, but told her nothing, she entered the drawing-room to meet him with foreboding added to a consuming fear. At the sight of him, so honest and kindly, she could have gone to his arms out of sheer longing for peace and comforting.
Teddy thought he had himself well in hand for his delicate task, but he was pale, and she noticed it.