Again she snatched the words from him. "To come straight in? Oh, glory be to God!"
Dennis showed some bewilderment. "She did come———?"
"Mercy, yes—to meet this horror. She's with Effie." She returned to it, to have it again. "She was with you?"
"A quarter of an hour—perhaps more." At this Mrs. Beever dropped upon her sofa again and gave herself to the tears that had not sooner come. She sobbed softly, controlling them, and Dennis watched her with hard, haggard pity; after which he said: "As soon as I saw her I spoke to her—I felt that I wanted her."
"You wanted her?"—in the clearer medium through which Mrs. Beever now could look up there were still obscurities.
He hesitated. "For what she might say to me. I told you, when we spoke of Rose after my arrival, that I had not come to watch her. But while I was with them"—he jerked his head at the garden—"something remarkable took place."
Mrs. Beever rose again. "I know what took place."
