Suddenly he seemed to recollect himself and dropping into a chair he buried his passion-distorted face in his arms and so awaited the coming of Constance.
He had not long to wait; soon his listening ear caught the gentle opening and closing of the door, and then he felt a light hand upon his arm, and a sweet pitying voice said: "Poor Frank, poor boy, don't let this overcome you so."
"Poor Frank, don't let this overcome you."
One hand reached up and clasped the soft hand that rested on his arm, but he did not lift his head, as he said brokenly:
"Tell me the worst, Constance."
"Why, Frank! the worst is told."