Freddy looked at her in astonishment. His thoughts were so far removed from his own health. If abstaining from the flesh of animals and the eating of fruit would ease his anxiety, he felt that for the rest of his life, he would never ask for any other food than watery arrowroot.
"I'm perfectly all right. That trouble's quite gone—your care has done the trick. Thanks awfully."
"Then what is it, Freddy?" Meg laid her hand on his arm, her eyes held his. If he attempted to deny the fact that there was something on his mind, she knew that he knew that his eyes could not hide it from her.
"I am bothered about something, Meg. There's an ugly report going about—I've made up my mind to tell you."
"Report about whom? You?" Meg's eyes showed battle. The Lampton fighting instinct was roused.
"No, I wish it was about me—I'd soon settle it!" Freddy's eyes were still searched by his sister's.
"It's about Michael," she said. She rose from her seat. "I have expected it. I knew it was coming."
"What?" Freddy looked at her in amazement. "You expected it?"
"I felt there was some trouble. I don't know what—I can't even guess—but I felt it was coming." She stood in front of her brother. "Out with it, old boy! Tell me the worst at once. Is he dying? Has he been murdered? I can bear anything except suspense."
"It's something uglier than death, Meg."