So he went away, and she watched his departure, standing by the old-time stair-well until she heard the lower door clang. Then, grieved and angry, she seated herself and nervously awaited Jacqueline's reappearance.
The girl returned ten minutes later, pale and plainly worried, but carrying it off lightly enough.
"Cynthia!" she exclaimed, smilingly. "Where do you suppose that husband of mine can be! He isn't at the station. I boarded the train, but he was not on it! Isn't it odd? I—I don't suppose anything could have happened to him—any accident—because the motor drivers are so reckless——"
"You darling thing!" laughed Cynthia. "Your young man is perfectly safe——"
"Oh, of course I—I believe so——"
"He is! He's at his club."
"What!"
"It's perfectly simple," said Cynthia coolly, "he went there from his office, feeling a bit under the weather——"
"Is he ill?"
"No, no! He was merely tired, I believe. And he stretched out and fell asleep and failed to wake up. That's all."