“Yes, but I have not seen her for some days.”
“Not since Mother Delaney's party, I believe?”
The color came again into his cheeks, but instantly after was succeeded by a deadly paleness.
“What a bore these parties are! and such parties as those of Mrs. Delaney are particularly annoying to me. Why the d—l couldn't the old tabby halter her hobby without calling in her neighbors to witness the painful spectacle? You were there, I think?”
“Yes.”
“I left early. I got heartily sick. You know I never like such places; and, as soon as they began dancing, I took advantage of the fuss and fiddle to steal off. It was unfortunate I did so, for Julia was taken sick, and has had a narrow chance for it. I thought I should have lost her.”
All this was spoken in tones of the coolest imaginable indifference. Edgerton was evidently surprised. He looked up with some curiosity in his glance, and more confidence; and, with accents that slightly faltered, he asked:—
“Is she well again? I trust she is better now.”
“Yes!” I answered, with the same sang-froid. “But I've had a serious business of watching through the last three nights. Her peril was extreme. She lost her little one.”
A visible shudder went through his frame.