"And yet—" said Judith. "Miss Crawford—Emmeline. Oh, Mr. Thorne, tell me what I ought to do."
"How can I? I don't know what to say. Why do you attempt to decide now? You may safely leave it till the time comes."
"Safely?"
"Yes. You will not do less than your duty."
She hesitated, having a woman's craving for something to which she might cling, something definite and settled. "It is not certain," she said at last.
"No," he answered. "Bertie has deceived you, but it may be for some foolish scheme of his own. He may be guiltless of this: it is only a suspicion still."
"Well, I will go," said Judith again. "Oh, if only he had come home!"
"There is a choir-practice to-night," said Percival. "If all is well he will be back in time for that. They have no doubt of his coming. Why not leave a note?"
She took a sheet of paper and wrote on it—
"My dearest Brother:" ("If he comes back he will be best and dearest," she thought as she wrote. It had come to this, that it was necessary to justify the loving words! "If he comes back, oh how shall I ever atone to him?") "Come to me at once at Standon Square. Do not lose a moment, I entreat you. "Yours always,