"Who?" said Donica.
"Not he. I mean—"
"Who?" repeated Gwynn.
"How is Sir Jekyl?"
It seemed as if old Donica's breath was suspended. Shade after shade her face darkened, as with wide eyes she stared in the gazing face of Lady Jane, who cried, with a strange laugh of rage—
"Yes—Sir Jekyl—how is he?"
"Oh, Miss Jane!—oh, Miss Jane!—oh, Miss Jane!—and is that it?"
Lady Jane's face was dark with other fiercer passions.
"Can't you answer, and not talk?" said she.
Donica's eyes wandered to the far end of the room to the fatal recess, and she was shaking her head, as if over a tale of horror.