"Come immediately; Lena dangerously ill."
"Whew!" he said, "I must go by the eight-o'clock mail this evening." He turned back to tell his man to pack a bag, take tickets, and meet him at Euston, then drove to the theatre to find that the rehearsal was over and every one gone. He went on as fast as possible to Great College Street.
Margaret tried not to show her consternation, but her face betrayed her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. Sir George told me you belonged to Lena—but that isn't true, is it?"
"Of course not," he answered, staring at her, and wondering that she could repeat anything so absurd; "but they have been very kind to me, and I ought to go. Besides," he added, for Tom was always loyal, "I like them both." He stopped a minute, and then he said, suddenly, "I wish you would give up the theatre."
"I can't," but her tone was not so positive as it had been.
"You know," he began, slowly, "I have been thinking a great deal about things lately, and wondering—"
"Yes."
"I'm not sure that I want to tell you—I'm rather afraid; suppose we go and drive about a bit, and perhaps you shall know when we come in."
"It's such a rum thing," he thought, when she had gone to get her hat, "that she should be living here alone; I feel as if I simply can't go away and leave her. And if I say anything and she doesn't care for me, it will be all up, and I shall find myself where poor old Stringer is. I wonder if he's got over it a bit, and will come and look after her while I am away in Scotland." Sir George had returned from Dieppe the day before, but he had been shy of going near Margaret. Tom had seen him in the street and thought it wise not to recognize him.