"A telegram has come," he began, taking the envelope from his pocket; but she interrupted him, Seizing it with a sort of gasp and tearing it open. A moment later she stood quite still, looking at the despatch, then with dilating eyes at the doctor, and again at the despatch. She pressed her fingers hard against her lips, and he saw that she was trembling.
"You must sit down," he said gently, and put his big, quiet hand on her shoulder. She sank under his firm touch into a chair.
"It is not—bad news."
"I am glad of that," William said. "But you are a little pale," he added smiling.
"It was a shock."
"I am glad it was nothing more."
She spread out the telegram and read it again. She did not seem to hear him. Dr. King looked at her uneasily. There was certainly no grief in her face, yet her color did not come back.
"Some one is dead," she said. "Not—a friend." William was silent. "But it startled me."
"Yes," the doctor said.
"Oh, Dr. King!" she cried violently; and put her hands over her face. He thought with relief that tears had come. "He was—an enemy," she said. "He is dead, Mrs. Richie; forgive him."