“Sylvia, don’t try to talk,” said Launa, as they drove home.
“Let me alone,” she moaned. “I am a fool to break down. You cannot tell what a joy it has been to me to feel to be sure of his love. It was all I had—all—”
Launa left her alone, after giving her a brandy and soda.
Fortunately “Some Cabbages and a Weed” was over, and the theatre shut up. It would open with a new play in September. Sylvia had her part to study and could rest, but not with her mother.
Mrs. Cooper could not have believed her daughter was in trouble—trouble which she should not share. A mother’s heart is the resting and the confiding-place for her daughter. She forgot a mother’s tongue often prevents confidences. She would have labelled her daughter “lost” had she known.
Launa had decided on taking a house by the river—a cottage with drains and hot water, as well as roses!
Mrs. Cooper and Sylvia would come too. Launa hoped Mr. Bolton would not talk of this accident and betray Sylvia. She waited with apprehension for the morrow and the Member for Hackney.
Sylvia besought her to find out the circumstances.
“Find out if he is dead. How he died: when and where. Oh, God! It is torture! Torture! Find out all about him.”
Mr. Wainbridge, Mr. George, and Paul came next day. Launa dispatched them for particulars. There was nothing in the paper. Mr. Wainbridge went to the Club, Mr. George to his newspaper, and Paul to the High Commissioner for Canada. This was his first meeting with Launa since their day of confession. He asked for no further explanation and she gave none.