The man stared hard at him, suddenly struck by the pallor of
his face. His eyes swept the grim figure in the ill-fitting suit of
jeans.
"What do you want? Can't you leave a message?"
"Want? I want to see her." The footman glanced back over his shoulder
as if searching for some one on whom he could shift an amazing
responsibility. Recalling his dignity, he essayed to close the door in
Braddock's face.
"I am her husband," announced the caller, his hands still in his
pockets. The servant's hand was stayed.
"Won't you call again?" he temporized. "I don't quite understand. It
don't go down very easy, I'll say that. At any rate, you can't see her
now, no matter who you are. She was up all night with Miss Braddock,
who took sick suddenly. Mrs. Braddock has just laid down for a--"
"Christine sick?" demanded Braddock. The new note in his voice
commanded attention. "It--it can't be serious. She was all right when
she came in last night. What's the matter with her? Speak up! What
does the doctor say?"
"They didn't call a doctor."
He was surprised to see the ominous glare fade from Braddock's eyes.
Pages:
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485