‘I am sorry for that. Not so bad, I hope, as to prevent you going out this evening? Serena, who can’t go, has sent me a box for the first night of “A Trip to Scarborough,” at the Parthenon. Talking of Serena, there is a most amusing “Verbal Phototype” of him in the “Plain Speaker.”’
It was clear that he knew nothing, that he had heard nothing, read nothing—though the very journal which contained the poison had just left his hand. Madeline breathed again. There was at least to be a little respite.
‘But you do not look at all yourself,’ he continued, ‘and as the night is damp, you are perhaps better at home.’
‘Yes; I cannot go.’
‘I am so sorry, as Aram’s first nights are generally amusing, and you would have enjoyed yourself. What shall we do with the box? It is too late, I fear, to send it to any of your friends.’
‘You will go, of course,’ said Madeline eagerly. ‘Miss Forster will go with you.*
‘No; I shall remain with you.’
‘You must go!’
The tone was so strange, so full of entreaty, that Forster was startled. He gazed at his wife again with deep solicitude, and drew her gently to his side.
‘I should not think of going out and leaving you alone. My darling, you are far from well. You must see Dr. Quin to-morrow, and see if his advice is any use.’