The last vestige of his smile had gone. His fair brows had knitted in a troubled frown. He seemed to read eagerly but intently, absorbed to an unusual degree.
She realized the seriousness of that letter. And for some curious reason alarm supervened. He had spoken of it easily, but his manner of reading denied his spoken word.
The silent moments irked her. The rustle of the paper in his hands. A feeling of foreboding grew, a feeling she knew was foolish, but which at the same time was irresistible. She found herself speculating as to the contents of the letter. She strove to review all the possibilities which the great Obar Ranch could offer for disaster. And her mind drifted back over years to a memory that gave her not a shadow of comfort.
The last button of her gloves had been secured when the refolding of the letter came. Jeff deliberately, but abstractedly, returned it to its cover. His smile was scarcely a happy one when he finally looked up.
"I'm through, sweetheart," he said. "Shall we——?"
But Elvine's feelings would no longer be denied.
"Serious as all that?" she demanded. The next moment she would have given worlds to have been able to recall the words.
"I'm afraid it is—in a way."
Elvine had no option but to continue the subject. She spoke with real feeling.
"May I know, dear?" she appealed. "You see, Jeff, things often read worse than they are. Maybe I can help. I've a clearer head than you'd guess."