“Come, now, Mrs. Halloran,” he said, “you know as well as I do that that’s all nonsense. But I daresay a visit from Miss Chantrey would cheer you up quite a lot. Would you like to see her? Shall I ask her to come in one day?”
“She’d be kindly welcome,” said Judy Halloran.
David went home with the old conflict raging again. Skeffington had been urging him to see a specialist. He had always refused. But now, quite suddenly, he wired for an appointment.
He came down from town on a dark, rainy afternoon, feeling that he had built up a barrier between himself and superstition.
An hour later he was at the Mottisfonts’ door, asking Markham if Mary was at home. Mary had gone out to tea, said Markham, and then volunteered, “Miss Elizabeth is in, sir.”
David told himself that he had not intended to ask for Elizabeth. Why should he ask for Elizabeth? He could, however, hardly explain to Markham that it was not Elizabeth he wished to see, so he came in, and was somehow very glad to come.
Elizabeth had been reading aloud to herself. As he stood at the door he could hear the rise and fall of her voice. It was an old trick of hers. Ten years ago he had often stood on the threshold and listened, until rebuked by Elizabeth for eavesdropping.
He came in, and she said just in the old voice:
“You were listening, David.”
But it was the David of to-day who responded wearily, “I beg your pardon, Elizabeth. Did you mind?”