Taking a pencil from my pocket I at once proceeded to transcribe the mysterious array of letters, and when I at last discovered the purport of the message, I sat back in my chair, breathless and rigid, while the flimsy paper nearly fell from my nerveless fingers.
“Why, Geoffrey!” cried Ella, starting up in alarm and rushing towards me, “what’s the matter? You are as pale as death. Have you had bad news?”
“Bad news!” I answered, trying to laugh and slowly rousing myself. “No bad news at all, except that I must leave for town at once.”
“Well, you certainly look as if you’ve been hard hit over a race,” Beck exclaimed, laughing.
“You can’t possibly get a train now till 11:30. It’s hardly ten yet,” said my well-beloved, exchanging a strange, mysterious glance with Dudley.
“Then I must go by that,” I answered, again re-reading the pink paper, replacing it in my pocket, and endeavouring to preserve an outward calm.
Presently, when Ella was again alone with me, her first question was,—
“What bad news have you received, Geoffrey?”
“None,” I answered, smiling. “It is a private matter, of really no importance at all.”
“Oh, I thought it must have been something very, very serious, your hand trembled so, and you turned so pale.”