"Louis! Are you telling me the truth?"
"Yes.... I'd tell you if he were dead. He isn't. Lansdale thinks there is a slight change for the better. So I came to tell you."
Every tense nerve and muscle in her body seemed to give way at the same instant as she dropped to the lounge. For a moment her mind was only a confused void, then the routine instinct of self-control asserted itself; she made the effort required of her, groping for composure and self-command.
"He is better, you say?"
"Lansdale said there was a change which might be slightly favourable.... I wish I could say more than that, Shiela."
"But—he is better, then?"—pitifully persistent.
Malcourt looked at her a moment. "Yes, he is better. I believe it."
For a few moments they sat there in silence.
"That is a pretty gown," he said pleasantly.
"What! Oh!" Young Mrs. Malcourt bent her head, gazing fixedly at the sealed letter in her hand. The faint red of annoyance touched her pallor—perhaps because her chamber-robe suggested an informality between them that was impossible.