"Chris!" whispered his wife's voice, thick and dry in the gloom.
Aghast in the instant apprehension of something wrong, he sprang to her couch, dropped to his knees, and put an arm about her.
"Alice! What is it, my darling?"
She struggled for speech, and he could see that her face was ashen.
"Chris—no, don't ring. Chris, who is that girl?"
Christopher touched the chain that flooded the couch with rosy light. He bent in eager sympathy over his wife's relaxed form.
"Alice, what is it?" he asked, tenderly. "Don't worry, dear, don't try to talk too fast! Just tell Chris what frightened you——"
Alice laughed wretchedly as she detached the fingers he had pressed anxiously upon her forehead.
"No, I'm not feverish!" she assured him, holding tight to his hand. "But I want you to tell me, Chris, I must know—and no matter what promise you have given Mother—or given any one——"
"Now, now, now!" he soothed her. "I'll tell you anything, sweetheart, only don't let yourself get so excited. Just tell me what it is, Alice, and I'll do anything in the world for you, of course!"