Adair asked.
"No. I went into it and called to her. It was empty."
"Indeed?" said Mrs. Adair. "Then I don't know where she is. Are you
going?"
"Yes, home."
Mrs. Adair made no effort to detain him at that moment.
"Perhaps you will come in and dine to-night. Eight o'clock."
"Thanks, very much. I shall be pleased," said Durrance, but he did not
immediately go. He stood by the window idly swinging to and fro the
tassel of the blind.
"I did not know until to-day that it was your plan that I should come
home and Ethne stay with you until I found out whether a cure was likely
or possible. It was very kind of you, Mrs. Adair, and I am grateful."
"It was a natural plan to propose as soon as I heard of your ill-luck."
"And when was that?" he asked unconcernedly. "The day after Calder's
telegram reached her from Wadi Halfa, I suppose."
Mrs. Adair was not deceived by his attitude of carelessness. She
realised that his expression of gratitude had deliberately led up to
this question.
"Oh, so you knew of that telegram," she said. "I thought you did not."
For Ethne had asked her not to mention it on the very day when Durrance
returned to England.
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