- trolled audibility of a man's voice. There was a
rustle of paper, and the next minute Robert told the man:
"That's all right; I'll be there by eight."
The light all gone out of her face, Cherokee turned appealingly to Marrion:
"What does this mean—where is he going?"
Shaking his head, sadly:
"I can't tell what he ever means of late."
Closing the door with an impatient bang, the husband was saying:
"I can't wait for breakfast; I am going away."
"Isn't this rather sudden—what is so important as to make you go without your breakfast?" she questioned.
"A matter that concerns me alone. Don't worry if I am not back by nightfall," and before she could reply he was gone.
Cherokee bit her lips to conceal a quiver; turning almost appealingly to Marrion, she urged:
"Won't you please go, too?"
He did not answer.
"Please go, and look after him."
He was calm almost to coldness, and he replied, tentatively:
"Robert would have asked me if he had wanted me along."
