Miss Van Tuyn opened the door. A soft gust of wind blew some small rain into her face.
“Let me hold my umbrella over you, please,” said Arabian. “Do take my arm while we look for a taxi.”
“No, no!”
She walked on.
“There is nothing the matter, I hope?”
“I had some bad news through the telephone.”
She felt impelled to say this to him, though she had said nothing to Garstin. Her brain still felt horribly overcharged, and an impulse had come to her to seek instant relief.
“My father is dead,” she added.
As she spoke she looked up at him, and she saw a sharp quiver distort his lips for an instant.
“Did you know him?” she exclaimed, standing still.