One hot afternoon, a few days later, as Douglas Briggs was walking slowly home, he met Miss Munroe and her little charges. Dorothy and Jack were walking listlessly, their faces pale, their eyes tired. Even Miss Munroe’s face lacked its expression of patient placidity. On meeting him the children showed less than usual enthusiasm.
“They ought to be out of town,” said Briggs.
Miss Munroe nodded. “Jack doesn’t seem like himself at all,” she said, “since this heat began. And Dorothy has lost all her spirits.”
That night at dinner Helen sat alone with her husband. Guy Fullerton was dining out. For a long time neither spoke. They were becoming used to silence.
“I’ve just had a letter from Fanny,” Helen said. “She seems very lonely at Ashburnham; but I’m glad she has escaped this dreadful heat.”
“That reminds me,” Briggs remarked. “I think you’d better not wait till next month before you go up to Waverly. The children will be far better off up there. This heat may continue all through the month. Can’t you get away by Saturday?”
He did not notice that she turned pale.
“I suppose we could,” she replied.
“I shall close up the house,” he continued, “and take rooms with Guy at the club. If I can manage it I’ll go up to Waverly with you for over Sunday. To-morrow I’ll send Michael there to open the house and get things ready. His wife had better go with him, too,” he added, as an afterthought.
“There’ll be no need of going to all that expense,” said Helen, flushing. Then she went on, quickly: “Miss Munroe and I can open the house, and we can get Mary Watson’s daughter to help us.”