"worn to a frazzle," as Sally put it, they went back to Round Hill. They found there word from Meriweather. His uncle was very ill. There seemed to be little hope. Merry was afraid he would have to cancel all his plans for participation in the wedding. He was sorry, but it could not of course be helped.
The letter was written to Sally. She read it aloud at luncheon and listened, without joining in, to the various comments. When the meal was over, she mounted her horse and rode down to the inn.
"I want to use your telephone," she said to Christopher, "it is quite clandestine."
He smiled at her. "That sounds worse than it is, doesn't it?"
"Perhaps. I want to talk to Merry, and I don't want to shout it to the world. You know how the telephones are at Round Hill. One in the hall, with an echo like a foghorn, and the other in Louis' room with no chance for the rest of us to use it."
There was a booth at the inn, and Sally shut herself into it. When she got Merry on the wire, she said, "I am down at Christopher's, so I can say anything I please, but first, I want to ask about your uncle."
"I'm afraid he's very ill, Sally."
"He's such a dear. Will you give him my love? I liked him. He has eyes like yours. Please don't answer that, Merry. I couldn't say it at Round Hill, but down here it doesn't sound half bad. And shan't I see you before I am Mrs. Neale Winslow? The time is short, you know."
"Too short."
