He glanced at the envelope she held, noting its tint.
"He's not here Nora. Take it to Mrs. Linford. She will know where he is."
He heard her go down the hall and knock at another door. She was compelled to knock twice, and then there was delay before the door opened.
He drew some pages of manuscript before him and affected to be busy at a work of revision, crossing out a word here, interlining one there, scanning the result with undivided attention.
When he heard a knock he did not look up, but said, "Come!" Though still intent at his work, he knew that Nancy stood there, looking from the letter to him.
"Nora said you sent this letter to me--it's for Bernal--"
"I thought he might be with you, or that you might know where he was."
He knew that she studied the superscription of the envelope.
"Well, leave it here on my desk till he comes. I sent it to you only because I heard him inquiring if a letter had not come for him--he seemed rather anxious about some letter--troubled, in fact--doubtless some business affair. I hoped this might be what he was expecting."
His eyes were still on the page before him, and he crossed out a word and wrote another above it, after a meditative pause. Still the woman at the door hesitated.
"Did you chance to notice the address on the envelope?"
He glanced at her now for the first time, apparently in some surprise: "No--it is not my custom to study addresses of letters not my own. Nora said it was for Bernal and he had seemed really distressed about some letter or message that didn't come--if you will leave it here--"
"As you like." He returned to his work, crossing out a whole line and a half with broad, emphatic marks. Then he bent lower, and the interest in his page seemed to redouble, for he heard the door of Bernal's room open. Nancy called:
He came to the door where she stood and she stepped a little inside so that he might enter.
"I am anxious about a letter. Ah, you have it!"
She was scanning him with a look that was acid to eat out any untruth in his face.
"Yes--it just came." She held it out to him. He looked at the front of the envelope, then up to her half-shut eager eyes--eyes curiously hardened now--then he blushed flagrantly--a thorough, riotous blush--and reached for the letter with a pitiful confusion of manner, not again raising his uneasy eyes to hers.