She
seemed much thinner and older, and coughed occasionally in a way that
frightened me. Not grief alone, I told myself, could have caused this
breakdown; it was the secret weighing upon her. My companion noted the
change, too, of course--a greater change, perhaps, than my eyes could
perceive--and I saw how moved and shocked he was.
"My dear Miss Holladay," he began, but she stopped him abruptly with a
little imperative motion of the hand.
"Pray do not," she whispered hoarsely. "Pray do not."
He stopped and pulled himself together. When he spoke again, it was in
quite a different tone.
"I have brought the money you asked for," and he handed her the
package.
"Thank you," she murmured.
"Will you verify the amount?"
"Oh, no; that is not necessary."
"I have a receipt here," and he produced it and his fountain-pen.
"Please sign it."
She took the pen with trembling fingers, laid the receipt upon her
chair-arm without reading, and signed her name with a somewhat painful
slowness. Then she leaned back with a sigh of relief, and buried her
face in her hands. Mr. Royce placed the receipt in his pocket book,
and stopped, hesitating. But the maid had opened the door and was
awaiting us. Her mistress made no sign; there was no excuse to linger.
We turned and followed the maid.
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