"Not Julia's hand disguised? That woman is capable of anything. She's been here several times inquiring. Sending in brazen messages!—"
"Is there anything in the paper?" said Barnaby.
Susan glanced hastily up and down the sheet. No, there was nothing. Among the theatrical announcements an American play that had come to London.
"She is looking in the advertisements!" said Lady Henrietta, affectionately scornful. "My dear, the poor boy is thirsting for murders and politics."
The advertisements.... And among them——
"To-night at 8.
"The Great American Comedy—'Shut Your Windows' ... Mr. Rostiman's Company. Mr. Hayes, Mr. Vine..." (a long list of names that were unknown to her, and unmeaning);—"And Miss Adelaide Fish."
*****
Barnaby was up and dressed.
He was much amused at his own weakness, at his dependence on that slim, supporting arm. He let Susan settle him carefully in a chair, and then frightened her by getting on to his feet and pretending to walk out of the room. She flew to him, scared, reproachful, making him lean his weight on her shoulder as she brought him back.