"Yes, I have seen him? Why did you ask?"
She seemed worried and did not immediately answer him. He repeated his question. "Because he spoke of you at breakfast," she said. "He didn't appear at all well—sat staring about, and—"
"That explains it," said Howard.
"Explains what?" she asked.
"His treatment of me."
"Treatment of you? Has anything gone wrong?"
"Yes, in the office, just now. When I went in he jumped up from his desk, threw down a hand full of papers, and stared at me—muttered, seemed to struggle with himself, sat down, and asked me to leave him alone. He never acted that way toward me before. I'm afraid he's ill. Why, he's the most jovial man in the world, and—I'm worried. I don't understand it. If he's sick, why didn't he say so?"
"I don't know, but don't let it worry you, dear," she said.
"But it does, Florence, to be turned upon in that way. What did he say about me at the table this morning? He surely wasn't angry because I didn't get up in time for breakfast."
"Surely not. He didn't say anything, only asked where you were, and kept staring at the place where you sit."