"Stop, Julia—what is it?—what is it?" Miss Toland was crying. She locked her arms tight about the girl, and drew her back into the reception hall. Julia was silent, suddenly realizing that she had been screaming. She moved her tongue over her dry lips, and struggled to explain.
"Now we understand perfectly!" Doctor Studdiford said soothingly. "He shot himself, poor fellow. I'm going to take care of him, do you see? Just keep still, Aunt Sanna, or we'll have a crowd here. Aunt Sanna, do you want this to get into the papers?" For Miss Toland's surmises were delivered at a sort of shriek.
"Oo—oo—oo!" shuddered Julia, fearful eyes on the assembly room door. "He was—we were just talking—"
"Is he dead, Jim?" asked Miss Toland fearfully.
"I think so. I'm going to call the hospital for an ambulance, anyway." Doctor Studdiford was all brisk authority.
"But what ever possessed him?" shrilled Miss Toland again. "Of all things!"
"Had you quarrelled?" asked Jim, keen eyes on Julia as he rattled the telephone hook.
"No," Julia said shortly, like a child who holds something back. Then her face wrinkled, and she began to cry. "He wanted to marry me," she said piteously. "He wanted me to promise! But he always has asked me—ever since I was fifteen years old, and I always said no!"
"Well, now," Jim said soothingly. "Don't cry. You couldn't help it. Do you know why he carried a revolver?"
"He has to carry it, his business isn't a very safe one," Julia said shakily. "He's shown it to me once or twice!" Her voice dropped on a trembling note, and her eyes were wild with fright.