"No. She does not complain. But no doubt we shall know more to-morrow."
"Very well. Please tell her I inquired, and to-morrow, about eleven, I'll call and see her again."
And, having rung off, she spoke to Lilla, telling her of the conversation.
"You'll go to-morrow and see her, my dear," urged Boyne's wife. "Bernard is here. I'll tell him."
"What about the girl?" asked Ena.
"Oh, for the present she's all right. She's gone back to Wimbledon. The telegrams have satisfied her."
"Right! Then I'll see you to-morrow after I've been to Lancaster Gate," said the Red Widow, and then they broke off the conversation.
"Well, the doctor doesn't know yet what's the matter," Lilla afterwards said to Boyne, who was sitting in the handsome drawing-room.
"Oh! he will to-morrow—never fear!" was the man's grim reply. "He must be a duffer if he doesn't recognise the symptoms. I expected him to know yesterday."
"You thought we should have had news on Wednesday, and it's now Friday."