To be sure that there could be no more discussion she telephoned her sister at once and Maud’s flat definite tones coming over the wire, expressing pleasure at the news and plunging at once into a world of detail, reassured her. It was reassurance just to realize that Maud was getting up from her breakfast table and that her mind was anxiously turning on the problem of buying a new wardrobe trunk or making her old one “do.” There was something cheering in the impression that much of life was made up of just such innocent trivialities.
But at the office Jim saw the ravages of the day before increased and she seemed unnatural to him, as if she was trying overhard to be natural. He asked her to come into his office and shut the door on her entrance.
But at the touch of his arms she looked so pathetic that his worry deepened.
“You’re not yourself, darling.”
She shook her head weakly.
“I’m quite all right.”
“No—circles and shadows under your eyes—troubles in them—pale cheeks—what is it about?”
Horatia tried to smile and failed miserably.
“Tell me, dear.”
He was so easy, so unpassionate because of some wise instinct that she turned to him and the story came out. Grace had played her game silently and well, for Jim had not suspected the situation.