"Chris," she said, swallowing with a dry throat, and sitting up with an air of regaining self-control, "you must tell me. You know you can trust me, you know——! That girl——"
"But what girl—what are you talking about, dear? Do—do try to be just a little clearer, and calmer——"
"Who"—said Alice, with a ghastly look, sweeping the hair back from her damp forehead—"who is that Norma Sheridan?"
"Why, I told you, dear, that I don't know," her husband protested. "I told you weeks ago, after your mother made that scene, the night of Hendrick's speech, that I couldn't make head or tail of it!"
"Chris"—Alice was regarding him fixedly—"you must know!"
"Dearest, couldn't your mother simply wish to befriend a girl whose parents——"
Alice flung her loosened hair back, and at her gesture and her glance at the little carafe on her table he poured her a glass of cold water. Drinking it off, and raising herself in her cushions, she stretched her hand to touch the chair beside her, and still without a word indicated that he was to take it. With a face of grave concern Christopher sat down beside her, holding her hands in both his own.
"Chris," she said, clearly and quickly, if with occasional catches of breath, "the minute that girl came into the room I knew that—I knew that horror had come upon us all! I knew that she was one of us—one of us Melroses, somehow——"
"Alice!" he said, pleadingly.
"But Mama," she said, with a keen look, "didn't tell you that?"