"Can I be the bearer of any messages?" he asked at last.
"No, thank you. I write regularly. Or--yes, you might tell them that
you left me well and happy. That will please them. Will you be so
kind?"
"Will it be kind to give a message which is not quite true?--I mean,"
he added hastily, "you do not seem strong."
"Oh, I am strong enough. I do not think I shall ever be ill."
Another long and painful silence intervened. There was no sound, save
Lois' thread as it was drawn through the thick material. Nicholson
drew out his watch.
"You mustn't think me rude, Mrs. Travers," he said, with an abrupt
return to his old formality, "but I have any amount of work to do
before I leave, and among other things I wanted to see your husband on
business. He told me the other day that he had some shares in the
Marut Company going, and said if I would care for them--"
Her work dropped from her hand to the floor. She stared at him with a
face whiter than the linen she had been stitching.
"But you are not going to buy them?" she asked sharply. Something in
her tone forced him to meet her eyes.
"Oh, I don't know. Why not? I'm a poor business man, and your husband
always seems to come off well in his ventures. Without being in the
least a speculator, I should be glad to make a little money." He
smiled. "I have another craze on, you see--a gun this time--and it
requires capital to complete. So I thought--"
She leaned forward.
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