After a moment the discordant bell was silent. The murmur of his voice, moment by moment interrupted, arose through the quiet house to this single lighted chamber.
She stood for a time by the door, listening. Once or twice she placed her hand above her heart. At last she turned back and gazed through the narrow door to the next room where a yellow ribbon of illumination from the reading light draped itself across her bed. Her face set in the cruel distortion that precedes tears, but at the sound of her husband's returning footsteps it resumed a semblance of control. No tears fell.
"Well?" she asked.
His face was haggard, confessing greater suspense than before.
"The Hansons' butler," he said. "I—I'm afraid the old lady's off this time. Redding had told him to get me. They sent the chauffeur some time ago with a fast car. Man said he ought to be here."
He paused, searching her face in an agony of indecision.
"Well?" she repeated.
"Bella," he went on. "Won't you tell me? Won't you promise? That old woman—for years she's depended on me. I could do more for her than Redding. I might help her—a little—"
"Of course you'll go," she said.
He spread his arms.