Her hands dropped into her lap, and she gazed across the hall to the staircase as if she expected to see her brother's tall form descending.
"Jim—Jim—Jim!" she repeated with twitching lips.
"Nothing's known yet, Amy," I said. "I told you because I wanted you to help me."
Slowly her eyes turned and met mine in a dazed and tearless stare.
"What am I to do?" she murmured.
"We must think of Jim's son," I said. "Keep Violet utterly in the dark at present. Lie to her—anything you like—invent news of Jim. She mustn't see the papers, she mustn't see her letters. As soon as he's reported missing in the papers people will write and sympathize. You and your mother must keep up the play till she's strong enough to be told. And then you must laugh at her fears as I've laughed at yours. Missing? What of it? With millions of men stretching over hundreds of miles——"
The dazed expression left her eyes, and her steadiness of voice and touch as she laid her hand on mine showed me that all the courage of her soul had gone forth to battle and returned triumphant.
"What do you think yourself, George?" she demanded.
"It's long odds against any man now out there returning with a whole skin," I said.
She stood up and looked slowly round the great hall, instinct with the personality of its owner. No word passed her lips, but it was the most eloquent silence I have experienced.