hers, his arms about her, their bodies quivering together. Now the recollection sickened her; she could never see him again until she could know. And if this were not true, would she ever know? And if it were true?
She gazed about at the room to which, a minute ago, her grandfather had motioned with horror; and she shuddered. She could not stay here. Her father and cousin Agnes—a lie—yet—yet—
She heard some one coming and, starting up, she saw cousin Agnes's housekeeper. Mrs. Wain, usually so calm, so completely in control of herself, advanced under a nervous tension which visibly shook her slight body. Her face was gray; her hands were gray and quavering; with her first words she confessed that she had posted herself somewhere within hearing of Lucas Cullen's voice.
"What was he saying to you of Mrs. Oliver Cullen?" she besought, her hands trembling on Ethel's shoulder, "What was he telling to you? Oh, you must tell me; he said Mrs. Cullen—"
"Nothing about her now!" Ethel cried. "I mean, he was talking about her long ago. But—but," suddenly she collapsed in the housekeeper's arms. "I'm going away; home to Wyoming, Mrs. Wain. You must help me off. And if Mr. Loutrelle calls for me or telephones, I can not speak to him! I can't see him! Perhaps—perhaps I can write. But I'm going home; no; don't tell him that. He'd try to follow. I must go away from him; from every one. I must never see him again!"
