“Those cuttings!” she cried. “Did you mean—do you really want to know anything about them?”
Anthony was surprised. “Most certainly I do. I don’t know exactly what I want to know, but that means I want to know everything.”
“Well, go and see Jim—my brother—now, at once!” She stamped her foot at him in her excitement. “When he was secretary to Mr. Hoode he was full of those attacks in the press. I remember we thought he was rather silly about them. He used to say there was something more than mere—what did he call it?—policy behind them, and swore he’d make Mr. Hoode take notice of them. I think it was what they eventually quarreled about, but I’m not sure, because he’d never tell me. He wouldn’t even tell Loo—my sister. But if you want to know anything about those papers, Mr. Gethryn, Jimmie’s more likely to be able to tell you than any one else!”
Anthony looked at her and said: “The best apology I can make to you is to go up to town now. Your brother ought to be well enough by this time. He’s got to be!” He paused; then added with a smile: “You know you wouldn’t have found me out if I’d been less preoccupied. I’m a bit tired, too.”
Dora, forgetting herself, looked at him closely. “Why—why, you look almost ill!” she cried, “p’r’aps you—oughtn’t to go to-night.”
“Oh, I’m going right enough,” Anthony said; “and now. And I’m not ill; that’s only my interesting pallor. You must go home—and don’t worry.”
She cried: “How can I help worrying? Worrying till I wish I’d never been born! Unless there’s a miracle——”
“Chesterton once wrote,” Anthony interrupted her, “that ‘the most wonderful thing about miracles is that they sometimes happen.’ And he’s a great and wise man.”
The girl flashed a tremulous smile at him and passed out of the door.