He met her glance helplessly.
“Perhaps the letters are lost,” he said at last.
“That's what every one tells me,” she smiled wearily.
“It is not an unreasonable conjecture,” he urged.
“Nothing is unreasonable; but nothing will satisfy me until I hear from him.”
“No, of course not.”
“It was three months ago—three months ago—that I heard last!”
“But consider the difficulties, the distance; I wouldn't give way to—” he did not finish the sentence, for Virginia had risen, and moving swiftly to the window stood with her back to him, looking out into the night.
“Can't you explain his silence? I am dying for some word of comfort—why don't you speak and tell me he is safe!”
“Most assuredly I think he is safe, Mrs. Landray,” said Benson, who had also risen.