"Headache? Sorry. Anything I can do?"
"No."
He did not urge; he was too engrossed in the shock of an escaped catastrophe; suppose Eleanor had read that dispatch! Good God! Was Lily mad? He must go and see her, quick, and say—He grew so angry as he thought of what he was going to say that he did not hear Edith's friendly comments on "poor dear Eleanor."
"Edith," he said, "that—that dispatch: I've got to see somebody on business. Awfully sorry to take you out to Fern Hill before supper, but I'm afraid I've got to rush off—"
"'Course! But don't bother to take me home. I can go by myself."
"No. It's all right. I have time; but I've got to go right off. I hate to drag you away before supper—"
"That's of no consequence!" she said, but she gave Maurice a swift look. What was the matter with him? His forehead, under that thatch of light hair, was so lined, and his lips were set in such a harsh line, that he looked actually old! Edith sobered into real anxiety. "I wish," she said, "that you wouldn't go out to Fern Hill; you'll have to come all the way back to town for your appointment!"
He said, "No: the—the appointment is on that side of the river." On the trolley there was no more conversation than there might have been if Eleanor had been present. At Edith's door he said, "'Night—"
But as he turned away, she called to him, "Maurice!" Then ran down the steps and put her hand on his arm: "Maurice, look here; is there anything I can do? You're bothered!"
He gave a grunt of laughter. "To be exact, Edith, I'm damned bothered. I've been several kinds of a fool."