There was an expression in her upraised eyes the Curate had never seen there.
"He met with an injury," he answered, "but it was not a severe one. He came to my rooms last night and remained with me. His wrist is fractured."
He was not desirous of discussing the subject very freely, it was evident, even to Mr. Barholm, who was making an effort to draw him out. He seemed rather to avoid it, after he had made a brief statement of what he knew. In his secret heart, he shrank from it with a dread far more nervous than Anice's. He had doubts of his own concerning Lowrie's action in the future. Thus the Hector's excellent spirits grated on him, and he said but little.
Anice was silent too. After luncheon, however, she went into a small conservatory adjoining the room, and before Grace took his departure, she called him to her.
"It is very strange that you did not tell us last night," she said; "why did you not?"
"It was Derrick's forethought for you," he answered. "He was afraid that the story would alarm you, and as I agreed with him that it might, I remained silent. I might as well have spoken, it appears."
"He thought it would frighten me?" she said.
"Yes."
"Has this accident made him ill?"
"No, not ill, though the fracture is a very painful and inconvenient one."
"I am very sorry; please tell him so. And, Mr. Grace, when he feels able to come here, I have something to say to him."
Derrick marched into the Barholm parlor that very night with his arm in splints and bandages.
