CHAPTER X.—A TELEGRAPHIC THUNDERBOLT.
But only a few days later, as White sat alone in the studio working at the scenario of a new play, the door was thrown open and in rushed Madeline. Her hair was dishevelled, her dress disordered, her whole face distorted with passion. Before he had time to speak she threw herself on a sofa and burst into an agony of tears.
‘Madeline!’ he cried, bending over her, ‘what is the matter? Why are you not at school?’
For a time there was no answer, but at last, between the sobs, the girl spoke—
‘Oh! take me home; let me go back to Grayfleet!’
White took her hand softly, and spoke to her soothingly, but his gentleness only made her worse. At last he yielded to his irritation and insisted on an explanation.
Drying her eyes she sat up and looked at him, and he was startled by the white determination in her delicate face.
‘Why are you not at school?’ he repeated.