a moment, she turned
the knob and went in.

Henry was seated at his desk, facing her, his big hands before him; one
of them held the telephone receiver. He lifted it slowly and put it
upon the hook beside the transmitter as he watched her with steady,
silent, aggressive scrutiny. His face was flushed a little--not much;
his hair was carefully brushed, and there was something about his
clean-shaven appearance and the set of his perfectly fitting coat, one
which he did not ordinarily wear to business, which seemed studied. He
did not rise; only after a moment he recollected that he had not done
so and came to his feet. "Good morning, Connie," he said. "Come in.
What's the news?"

There was something strained and almost menacing in his voice and in
his manner which halted her. She in some way--or her presence at that
moment--appeared to be definitely disturbing him. It frightened him,
she would have thought, except that the idea was a contradiction.
Henry frightened? But if he was not, what emotion now controlled him?

The impulse which had brought her into his office went from her. She
had not seen nor heard from Henry directly since before Alan's telegram
had come late yesterday afternoon; she had heard from her father only
that he had informed Henry; that was all.

"I've no news, Henry," she said. "Have you?" She closed the door
behind her before moving closer to him. She had not known what he had
been doing, since he had heard of Alan's telegram; but she had supposed
that he was in some way cooperating with her father, particularly since
word had come of the disaster to the ferry.

"How did you happen to be here, Connie?" he asked.

She made no reply but gazed at him, studying him. The agitation which
he was trying to conceal was not entirely consequent to her coming in
upon him; it had been ruling him before. It had underlain the loudness
and abuse of his words which she had overheard. That was no capricious
outburst of temper or irritation; it had come from something which had
seized and held him in suspense, in dread--in dread; there was no other
way to define her impression to herself. When she had opened the door
and come in, he had looked up in dread, as though preparing himself for
whatever she might announce. Now that the door shut them in alone, he
approached her with arms offered. She stepped back, instinctively
avoiding his embrace; and he stopped at once, but he had come quite
close