“Now,” he said, “suppose you tell me all about it,” and was immediately smitten with very fragrant memories of another occasion when he had used that phrase.
Dora Masterson said simply: “I was frightened. Oh, so horribly, horribly frightened!”
Anthony was puzzled. “But why just now? Surely you must have felt like this as soon as you heard?”
“N-no. Of course it was—terrible! But Lucia told me what you said, Mr. Gethryn—and she—she seemed to so absolutely believe that you would make everything all right that I—I tried to believe too.”
Anthony’s heart gave a leap that startled him.
The girl went on, struggling for control. “But—but it was when I heard about the end of the inquest—that he was actually in—— Oh, it’s too awful! It’s too terrible!” She swayed about in the big chair, hands hiding her face, the slim shoulders twisting as if her pain were bodily.
Again was Anthony puzzled. Something in the tone told him that here was something he had not heard of. And this tendency to hysteria must be stopped.
“What d’you mean? Explain!” he said sharply.
She sat upright at that, her face working. “I mean that—that—if only I hadn’t been a senseless, vicious little fool; if—if only I hadn’t be-behaved like a b-beastly schoolgirl, Archie wouldn’t—wouldn’t be in that awful place! Oh! why was I ever born!” She pressed her hands to her face and doubled up in the chair until her forehead rested on her knees.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand yet,” said Anthony.