"Well--he doesn't expect her to go to him now, does he?"

"No--he has heard of her illness; but he expects to come here."

"_Here?_"

Mrs. Waythorn reddened under his gaze. They looked away from each
other.

"I'm afraid he has the right....You'll see...." She made a
proffer of the letter.

Waythorn moved away with a gesture of refusal. He stood staring
about the softly lighted room, which a moment before had seemed so
full of bridal intimacy.

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "If Lily could have been moved--"

"That's out of the question," he returned impatiently.

"I suppose so."

Her lip was beginning to tremble, and he felt himself a brute.

"He must come, of course," he said. "When is--his day?"

"I'm afraid--to-morrow."

"Very well. Send a note in the morning."