Henry nodded gravely.
“The worst of it is I can't tell a living mortal,” Horace said, in a whisper. “I am afraid even to think it.”
At dinner Rose sat with her face averted from Horace. She never spoke once to him. As they rose from the table she made an announcement. “I am going to run over and see Lucy Ayres,” she said. “I am going to tell her an accident happened to my candy, and maybe she will give me some more.”
Henry saw Horace's face change. “Candy is not good for girls; it spoils their complexion. I have just been reading about it in the Sunday paper,” said Henry. Sylvia unexpectedly proved his ally. Rose had not eaten much dinner, although it had been an especially nice one, and she felt anxious about her.
“I don't think you ought to eat candy when you have so little appetite for good, wholesome meat and vegetables,” she said.
“I want to see Lucy, too,” said Rose. “I am going over there. It is a lovely afternoon. I have nothing I want to read and nothing to do. I am going over there.”
Henry's eyes questioned Horace's, which said, plainly, to the other man, “For God's sake, don't let her go; don't let her go!”
Rose had run up-stairs for her parasol. Horace turned away. He understood that Henry would help him. “Don't let her go over there this afternoon,” said Henry to Sylvia, who looked at him in the blankest amazement.
“Why not, I'd like to know?” asked Sylvia.
“Don't let her go,” repeated Henry.