"You have had a disquieting letter?"
The voice was Julie's. Delafield was standing, apparently in thought, at the farther corner of the little, raised terrace of the hotel. She approached him with an affectionate anxiety, of which he was instantly conscious.
"I am afraid I may have to leave you to-night," he said, turning towards her, and holding out the letter in his hand.
It contained a few agitated lines from the Duke of Chudleigh.
"They tell me my lad can't get over this. He's made a gallant fight, but this beats us. A week or two--no more. Ask Mrs. Delafield to let you come. She will, I know. She wrote to me very kindly. Mervyn keeps talking of you. You'd come, if you heard him. It's ghastly--the cruelty of it all. Whether I can live without him, that's the point."
"You'll go, of course?" said Julie, returning it.
"To-night, if you allow it."
"Of course. You ought."
"I hate leaving you alone, with this trouble on your hands," said Jacob, in some agitation. "What are your plans?"
"I could follow you next week. Aileen comes down to-day. And I should like to wait here for the mail."