In a large chair near the open window Godfrey Cuyler sat, his long white hair slightly lifted by the breeze, his head resting upon the back of the chair, his eyes closed in sleep.
She stood above him, gazing silently down upon him, trying to think while her brain seemed to be an impenetrable maze, yet through all the gloom that surrounded her a single thought struggled through! How white and wan he looked! Was she about to lose him in addition to the other terrible trouble that had come upon her?
As the thought came to her, a low groan of indescribable misery fell from her lips. It awakened the sleeper.
His eyes opened, and with a start he straightened himself in his chair.
"You, Leonie!" he gasped. "In Heaven's name, what has happened?"
She kneeled beside him and laid her lips upon his hand without answering.
The act frightened him as perhaps no other would. He fell back, his face became ashen, his lips blue. A cold moisture, like the dew of death, stood thickly upon his brow.
"Leonie," he said, his voice sounding strangely thick and guttural, "where have you been for the past week that you could not tell dad?"
She lifted her white, anguished face and allowed her eyes to rest upon his.
"I have been with Leonard Chandler!" she answered dully.