But Lucia's face was sad. "Keith—darling—don't make plans till we know what Sir Wilfrid Spence says."
"I shall, whatever he says. But I suppose I must consult him before I take you to Alassio."
For still at his heart, under all its happiness, there lay that annihilating doubt; the doubt and the fear that had been sown there by Horace Jewdwine. He could see for himself that one of his terrors was baseless; but there remained that other more terrible possibility. None of them had dared to put it into words; but it was implied, reiterated, in the name of Sir Wilfrid Spence. He had moreover a feeling that this happiness of his was too perfect, that it must be taken away from him.
He confided his trouble to Kitty that night, sitting up over the drawing-room fire. Lucia's doctor had come and gone.
"What did he say, Kitty?"
"He says there's no need for Sir Wilfrid Spence to see her at all. He is going to wire to him not to come."
He gave a sigh of relief. Then his eyes clouded.
"No. He must come. I'd rather he came."
"But why? He isn't a nerve specialist."
He shuddered. "I know. That's why I must have him. I can't trust these local men."