"Why, why do you think that?" he inquired, his beaming eyes steadying into an uneasy stare.
"Because I saw it in your face just then," she answered. "But why is he writing you when he could have come down and seen you? Is—is he all right?"
William wondered what he could now say. Why had it not occurred to him that he must be as adroit in his explanations to his wife as to the bank examiners, the directors, the public in general?
His brain seemed too heavy to deal adequately with a situation so delicate and fraught with pitfalls, for Celeste had a subtle intuition.
"Yes, he is all right," William said. "That is, he is not—was not drinking yesterday or last evening when I saw him at the bank. In this note he tells me that he has left town. I don't think he slept here last night. Did he, Michael?" The butler was entering with the eggs and bacon. "Did my brother sleep in his room last night?"
"I think not, sir," Michael answered, stiffly, avoiding the straight gaze of his mistress as he put the platter down by his master. "At least he was not there half an hour ago."
"But he gave you the note," Celeste put in, insistently.
"That was last night," Michael said. "He gave it to me when he came in. I was to hand it to you, sir, at breakfast."
"It is all right," William said, evasively. He took up a spoon to help himself to the eggs, but awkwardly dropped it. Michael served him with steady hands and unruffled mien. "Yes, he is all right. He says he wants to leave Boston for a while. You know he has had some troubles of late."
"Gone without saying anything to me or Ruth?" Celeste said, her thin lips twitching. "Why, I can't understand it! Is there anything in the note about the length of time he will be away?"