“I must get you a light,” he whispered, “or you’ll be falling over things, and rousing the house.”
He struck a match: he had a glimpse of Rosa dressed as a peon with a sombrero jammed over her eyes.
“I’ll sit on the bed,” she whispered. “Put the match out, Hi.”
He put out the match; she sat on the bed and began to shudder till the bed quaked. As he did not know what to do, he did nothing. He stood well away from Rosa, waiting for her to speak.
“Good old Rosa,” he said at last.
“Yes, good old Rosa,” she said with a giggle; then she trembled until she began to sob.
“Good Lord, Rosa,” he said, “pull yourself together. Good Lord, what is it? What has happened?”
“Those devils, Hi. They’ve got Carlotta.”
“What devils? The Pitubas?”
“Yes. At least, I don’t know if they were Pitubas. Anyhow the Reds have got her.”