“Where has she gone?”
“To her country place in Connecticut, on the Sound shore.”
“How can I get there? By railroad?” Eleanor started toward the telephone.
“Hold on!” he said sharply. “What are you going to do?”
“Order a time-table—”
“Useless,” he commented curtly. “Every terminal in the city is already watched by detectives. They’d spot you in a twinkling. Your only salvation is to get to Miss Landis before they catch you.”
In her excitement and confusion she could only stand and stare. A solitary thought dominated her consciousness, dwarfing and distorting all others: she was in danger of arrest, imprisonment, the shame and ignominy of public prosecution. Even though she were to be cleared of the charge, the stain of it would cling to her, an ineradicable blot.
And every avenue of escape was closed to her! Her lips trembled and her eyes brimmed, glistening. Despair lay cold in her heart.
She was so weary and distraught with the strain of nerves taut and vibrant with emotion, that she was by no means herself. She had no time for either thought or calm consideration; and even with plenty of time, she would have found herself unable to think clearly and calmly.
“What am I to do, then?” she whispered.