“Mr. Bruce,” she called after him.
He came back to her. His face was rather pale, but was doggedly resolute. Her look was not very different from his.
“Yes, Miss West?” said he.
For a moment it was hard for her to speak. No word, only that frigid nod, had passed between them since their quarrel.
“I want to ask you something—and tell you something,” she said coldly.
“I am at your service,” said he.
“We cannot talk here. Suppose we cross into the Court House yard?”
In silence he fell into step beside her. They did not speak until they were in the yard where passers-by could not overhear them.
“You know of Mrs. Sherman’s illness?” she began in a distant, formal tone.