"Will she be angry with me? How will she look? What will she say?"
Thought chased thought through her brain wildly. The door was opened, but no one entered. There was a buzzing in her ears; she could not catch what passed. But as she stood there, trembling now in every limb, the cook ran up the stairs with a letter.
Broxbourne was just behind, and he snatched the letter out of the woman's hand.
"Won't you come down, miss?" said the servant, in a hurried way. "Do come. I've made some tea for you."
But Caroline looked backwards at that moment. She had caught the sound of a muttered exclamation. She hardly knew what prompted her to send the woman away, but she did so, and she turned and went back into the drawing-room, shutting the door behind her.
Broxbourne was standing biting his moustache. His red face had turned white. He looked ugly and alarming.
"You have news from Mrs. Lancing?" Caroline said.
The tension of her nerves gave. Caroline groped her way to a chair, sat down, and hid her face in her hands for an instant; then she looked up.
"I _entreat_ you to tell me what has happened," she said brokenly. "I care for her so much. I came here because I care so much ... because I thought I could help her." Her voice was husky. "I only heard from her late last night, but I had to come, and I prayed I might not be too late. Where is----"
Broxbourne looked at her as her words died away.
"Take my word for it, she isn't worth fretting over. She can take care of herself."
There was an indescribable amount of bitterness in his voice. Something about Caroline's look had checked his rage.
"You say you heard from her, so I suppose you know all there is to know."
Caroline brushed back her hair from her tired aching brow.
"I know only this much--that she contemplated something rash and foolish.... She told me nothing, but I fancied I should find her here. That was why I came.... I wanted so much to be with her."
"You mean you've just come up from Yelverton; but how did you manage that?"
She told him, and he frowned almost unbelievingly; then he said, in that surly, bitter way--
"Well, I tell you she isn't worth it. She wouldn't care if you broke yourself up into little bits to help her. She----" There was a hard, ugly word on his lips. He stifled it, but not easily; then he said, "Mrs. Lancing is married. In this note she informs me she was married yesterday morning early to Cuthbert Baynhurst."