"It is very raw and wet down here. Come!"
As she started off along the long, narrow pier, he sprang after
her, grasping her arm. She leaned rather heavily against him for
a few steps and then drew herself up. Her teeth still chattered,
her arm trembled in his clasp.
"By Jove, Sara, this is bad," he cried, in distress. "You're chilled
to the marrow."
"Nerves," she retorted, and he somehow felt that her lips were set
and drawn.
"You must get to bed right away. Hot bath, mustard, and all that.
I'll not stop for dinner. Thanks just the same. I will be over in
the morning."
"When will you sail?" she asked, after a moment.
"I can't go for ten days, at least. My mother goes into the hospital
next week for an operation, as I've told you. I can't leave until
after that's over. Nothing serious, but--well, I can't go away.
I shall write to Hetty to-night, and cable her to-morrow. By the
way, I--I don't know just where to find her. You see, we were not
to write to each other. It was in the bargain. I suppose you don't
know how I can--"
"Yes, I can tell you precisely where she is. She is in Venice, but
leaves there to-morrow for Rome, by the Express."
"Then you have been hearing from her?" he cried sharply.
"Not directly. But I will say this much: there has not been a day
since she landed in England that I have not received news of her.
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