Jean’s face blanched, and she waited in taut suspense while Burke ripped open the ominous orange-coloured envelope.
“What is it?” she asked nervously. “Have they—is it bad news?”
There was a pause before Burke answered. Then, he handed the flimsy sheet to her, remarking shortly:
“They’re not coming.”
Jean’s eyes flew along the brief message.
“Returning to-morrow. Am staying the night with Holfords.
Judy.”
Her face fell.
“How horribly disappointing!” Her glance fluttered, regretfully to the faint disc of the moon showing like a pallid ghost of itself in a sky still luminous with the afternoon sunlight.
“I shan’t see my moonlit Moor to-night after all!” she continued. “I wonder what has happened to make them change their plans?”
Burke volunteered no suggestion but stood staring moodily at the swiftly receding figure of the telegraph boy.