Mr. Phillips arrived the next morning as usual, just as Mabel had left the old lady's room, and asked news of her.
"She is a little better, I think," said Mabel. "She must be very quiet all day."
The secretary bowed and turned aside into Oliver's room, where a heap of letters lay to be answered.
A couple of hours later, as Mabel went upstairs once more, she met Mr. Phillips coming down. He looked a little flushed under his sallow skin.
"Mrs. Brand sent for me," he said. "She wished to know whether Mr. Oliver would be back to-night."
"He will, will he not? You have not heard?"
"Mr. Brand said he would be here for a late dinner. He will reach London at nineteen."
"And is there any other news?"
He compressed his lips.
"There are rumours," he said. "Mr. Brand wired to me an hour ago."
He seemed moved at something, and Mabel looked at him in astonishment.
"It is not Eastern news?" she asked.
His eyebrows wrinkled a little.
"You must forgive me, Mrs. Brand," he said. "I am not at liberty to say anything."
She was not offended, for she trusted her husband too well; but she went on into the sick-room with her heart beating.
The old lady, too, seemed excited. She lay in bed with a clear flush in her white cheeks, and hardly smiled at all to the girl's greeting.
"Well, you have seen Mr. Phillips, then?" said Mabel.
