Laine. I think"--Moses got up--"I think Gineral is
trying to make you understand something, sir."
Half an hour later Laine called Moses back into the room, gave a few
orders, changed his clothes, and without waiting for breakfast went
out, and not until dark did he come in again.
Dinner was a pretense, and presently he pushed his coffee aside,
lighted a cigar, and took up the evening paper. The headlines were
glaring, but he passed them quickly. Telegraphic news was skimmed,
stock reports and weather conditions glimpsed unheedingly, and the
editorial page ignored, and, finally, with a gesture of weariness, he
threw the paper on the floor and went into the library.
It was, as Moses had said, a very spacious room, and its furnishings
were distinctive; but, though warm and brightly lighted, to stay in
it to-night was impossible, and, ringing for his coat and hat, he
made ready to go out.
At the table he lingered a moment and glanced at some letters upon
it. Mechanically he took one up, looked at the writing of his name,
and wondered indifferently who it was from. Breaking it open, he
read the few words it contained, and at them his face colored and he
bit his lips to hide their twitching. He read:
DEAR MR. LAINE,--Dorothea has just told me.
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