CHAPTER XIV
PERPLEXITIES
"DON'T you think it is very extraordinary that I have never had one line from Hugo since the letter I got at Aden?" asked Jan.
It was Friday evening, the Indian mail was in, and there was a letter from Peter—the fourth since her return.
"But you've heard of him from Mr. Ledgard," Meg pointed out.
"Only that he had gone to Karachi from Bombay just before Fay died—surely he would see papers there. It seems so heartless never to have written me a line—I can't believe it, somehow, even of Hugo—he must be ill or something."
"Perhaps he was ashamed to write. Perhaps he felt you would simply loathe him for being the cause of it all."
"I did, I do," Jan exclaimed; "but all the same he is the children's father, and he was her husband—I don't want anything very bad to happen to him."
"It would simplify things very much," Meg said dreamily.
Jan held up her hand as if to ward off a blow.