Emily looked round with a start. Alban was out of hearing. It was Francine who had answered her.
“What do you mean?” she said.
Francine hesitated. A ghastly paleness overspread her face.
“Are you ill?” Emily asked.
“No—I am thinking.”
After waiting for a moment in silence, Emily moved away toward the door of the drawing-room. Francine suddenly held up her hand.
“Stop!” she cried.
Emily stood still.
“My mind is made up,” Francine said.
“Made up—to what?”