Now, in the rose dusk of the drawn curtains, he stood beside it, not touching it—never dreaming of touching it without permission, any more than he would have touched his wife.
Somebody knocked; he turned, and the maid came forward.
"Mrs. Clydesdale desires to see you, sir."
He stared for a second, then his heart beat heavily with alarm.
"Where is Mrs. Clydesdale?"
"In her bedroom, sir."
"Unwell?"
"Yes, sir."
"In bed?"