Nan flushed scarlet from brow to throat, her eyes widened, and the breath fluttered unevenly between her parted lips. She knew—she knew what Mallory had left unsaid.
"Peter——"
She held out her hands to him with a sudden childish gesture of surrender, and involuntarily he gathered them into his own. At the same moment the door opened to admit the maid and he drew back quickly, while Nan's outstretched hands fell limply to her side.
"This wire's just come for you, miss," said the maid, and from her manner it was quite impossible to guess whether she had observed anything unusual or not. "I took it to Miss Craig by mistake."
Mechanically Nan extracted the thin sheet from its torn envelope. As her eyes absorbed the few lines of writing, her face whitened and she drew her breath in sharply.
The next instant, however, she recovered her poise, and crumpling the telegram into a ball she addressed the maid composedly.
"There's no answer," she said. Adding: "Has anyone arrived yet?"
"Mrs. Seymour is here, miss. And"—listening—"I think Lord St. John must have arrived."
Nan turned to Mallory.
"Then we'd better go, Peter. Come along."