"How bad?"
"The worst—unless the Clearing House does something—"
"What!"
"—And it won't! Mark my words. Wayward, the Clearing House won't lift a penny's weight from the load on their shoulders. I know. There's a string of banks due to blow up; the fuse has been lighted, and it's up to us to stand clear—"
"Oh, hush!" whispered Constance in a frightened voice; the door swung open; a gust of chilly air sent the ashes in the fireplace whirling upward among the leaping flames.
Young Mrs. Malcourt entered the room.
Her gown, which was dark—and may have been black—set off her dead-white face and hands in a contrast almost startling. Confused for a moment by the brilliancy of the lamplight she stood looking around her; then, as Portlaw waddled forward, she greeted him very quietly; recognised and greeted Wayward, and then slowly turned toward Constance.
There was a pause; the girl took a hesitating step forward; but Miss Palliser met her more than half-way, took both her hands, and, holding them, looked her through and through.
Malcourt's voice broke in gravely:
"It is most unfortunate that my return to duty should happen under such circumstances. I do not think there is any man in the world for whom I have the respect—and affection—that I have for Hamil."