"All right," said Charley, vaulting off. "Good-night to you both." And neither of them had noticed that Daisy had not spoken a word.
Daisy was tormenting herself in a most unnecessary manner. Rosaline Bell in London! Living near to them; close to them, he had said. He had seen her to-day, and yesterday as well: no doubt he saw her every day. No doubt he loved this Rosaline!—and had thrown off all affection for herself, his wife. Even Edina could see the state of affairs. What a frightful thing it was!—and how far had it gone?—and what would it end in?
After this, the ordinary fashion of a jealous woman, did Mrs. Frank Raynor reason; believing her fancies to be all true as gospel. Had some angelic messenger essayed to set her right, it would have availed nothing in her present frame of mind. Jealousy is as much a disease as intermittent fever: it may have its lighter intervals, but it must run its course.
"Daisy, I think we shall have a storm!" cried Frank. "How still and hot the air is!—and look at that great black cloud coming up! We must hasten as much as possible."
Daisy silently acquiesced. And the pace they went prevented much attempt at talking. So that he had no opportunity of noticing that she had suddenly become strangely silent.
The storm burst forth when they were within a few doors of their own home. Lightning, thunder, a heavy downpour of rain. As they turned into the surgery, where Sam stood under the gas-light, his arms on the counter, his heels kicking about underneath it, Frank caught up a note that was lying there, addressed to him.
"Who brought this note?" asked Frank as he read it.
"It was a young lady," replied Sam. "When I told her you were not at home, she asked me for a sheet o' paper and pen-and-ink, and wrote that, and said it was to be gave you as soon as you came in. And please, sir, they have been round twice from Tripp's to say the baby's worse."
Frank Raynor went out again at once, in spite of the storm. His wife, who had heard what passed, turned into the parlour, her brain at work.
"I wonder how long this has been going on!—how long she has been coming here?" debated Mrs. Frank, her fingers twitching with agitation, her head hot and throbbing. "She wrote that note—barefaced thing! When she found she could not see him, she wrote it, and left it for him: and he has gone out to see her!"