“I don’t know,” shouted the doctor in a voice which was not his own, and slammed the door.
Prokop turned to Annie. She sat frozen and looked into the distance with her large eyes. “Annie,” said Prokop feverishly, “you must tell me where your George is. I—I must go and see him, do you understand? that is to say . . . it’s a question of . . . To cut it short, it’s to do with . . . I . . . Read this,” he said quickly, and stuck in front of her eyes the crumpled fragment of newspaper. But Annie saw nothing but some circles or other.
“That’s my discovery, do you see?” he explained nervously. “A certain Carson is looking for me—where’s your George?”
“We don’t know,” whispered Annie. “It’s two . . . quite two years since he wrote to us”
“Ah!” growled Prokop and angrily crushed the paper into a ball. It was as if the girl had turned to stone, only her eyes grew larger and between her half-closed lips she breathed out something confused and painful.
Prokop would have liked to sink through the ground. “Annie,” he said at last, breaking the painful silence, “I shall come back. I . . . in a few days. . . . You see, this is a very important business. A man . . . after all must consider . . . his work. And he has, you know, certain . . . certain obligations. . . .” (God, how he had botched it!) “Consider that . . . I simply must,” he cried suddenly. “I would rather died than not go, you see?”
Annie only nodded her head slightly. Ah, if she
