Colonel Denbigh lifted a protesting hand.
“No! I want you all to hear what I have to say, especially William. It concerns William.”
Mrs. Carter, who had returned to her seat, looked frightened. There was an awkward pause, the colonel sitting quietly in the high-backed chair, looking into the crown of his hat.
“It’s—it’s very hot,” ventured Mrs. Carter faintly.
The colonel glanced kindly from one to the other.
“It’s the heat that has made it so bad for—her,” he observed enigmatically.
Mr. Carter’s mouth tightened and he glanced angrily toward the door. He heard his son coming down-stairs. William entered, looking pale and haggard, and Colonel Denbigh rose. The old man was so tall that he seemed to tower.
“William,” he said grimly, “I came to see you. Virginia sent me. We wanted Dan to tell you, but Dan doesn’t wish to interfere. Your wife is at my house—very ill.”
William turned from white to red. For a moment he seemed nonplused, then he rallied.
“I have no wife, Colonel Denbigh,” he said slowly. “Fanchon left me weeks ago. I expect to sue her for divorce.”