"I'll speak to him," said Adela, as pale as a young priestess.
"Don't cry out till you're hurt; wait till he speaks to you."
"He won't, he won't!" the girl declared. "He'll do it without telling us."
Her brother had faced round to her again; he started a little at this, and again, at one of the candles, lighted his cigarette, which had gone out. She looked at him a moment; then he said something that surprised her.
"Is Mrs. Churchley very rich?"
"I haven't the least idea. What has that to do with it?"
Godfrey puffed his cigarette. "Does she live as if she were?"
"She has got a lot of showy things."
"Well, we must keep our eyes open," said Godfrey. "And now you must let me get on." He kissed his sister, as if to make up for dismissing her, or for his failure to take fire; and she held him a moment, burying her head on his shoulder. A wave of emotion surged through her; she broke out with a wail:
"Ah, why did she leave us? Why did she leave us?"
"Yes, why indeed?" the young man sighed, disengaging himself with a movement of oppression.
Adela was so far right as that by the end of the week, though she remained certain, her father had not made the announcement she dreaded. What made her certain was the sense of her changed relations with him—of there being between them something unexpressed, something of which she was as conscious as she would have