Convulsively she caught and clung to them.
"Now we must pull ourselves together, dear," went on Stanley gently. "It is important that we do not give ourselves away. Sylvia may know nothing and if she does not, we must not let her suspect. The fewer people there are mixed up in this dilemma the better."
"Yes."
She rose but he still held her hand, a common misery routing every thought of conventionality.
The firmness and magnetism of his touch brought strength. It was a new experience, for during her life with Jason, Marcia had been the oak—the one who consoled, sustained. For a few delicious moments, she let herself rest, weary and unresisting, within the shelter of Stanley Heath's grasp. Then she drew away and, passing her hand across her forehead as if awaking from a dream murmured:
"I'd better go down. Sylvia will be coming."
"Very well. Now keep a stiff upper lip. Remember, I depend on you to see the apple-cart does not upset."
"I will—I'll do my best."
Even as she spoke the outer door opened, then closed with a bang.