"Lola!"
At the cry she had merely held out to him a letter. Mechanically he took it. It was the one he had written that afternoon and told the porter to post.
"How" he began.
"I—I came back suddenly." Her voice was almost a whisper. "I felt that something"
She was swaying slightly. How deathly pale she was. She was going to faint.
With a swift movement he clasped her in his arms.
"Oh, my dear, my dear!" he whispered passionately, and the only reply was sobs that seemed to tear and rend her whole body.
"But why, why did you?" She looked at him, her lower lip quivering.
"Wasn't it better than becoming the Fortieth Article?" he asked quizzically.
A slight smile flickered across her face. She was lying back in the big leather-covered arm-chair, Beresford kneeling beside her.
"It was so—so unfair," she said.
"Unfair?" he repeated.
"Yes, to—to your friends; but you won't now?" The look of fear was still in her eyes.
"Don't let's talk about it, Rain-Girl," he said steadily.
"But we must talk about it," she persisted. "We must. Promise me?"
He was silent.
