She sped at last through the oaks, up the terraces, and slowing down to an unsteady walk, staggered into the house. No one would wonder at her being there. She came up now and then and sorted the linen and piled the baskets for her girls. She entered a side door and listened. The Colonel’s voice sounded impatiently in the front hall.
“Mary! Mary?”
A pause, then an answer:
“Yes, father!”
He started up the front stairway and Zora hurried up the narrow back stairs, almost overturning a servant.
“I’m after the clothes,” she explained. She reached the back landing just in time to see Colonel Cresswell’s head rising up the front staircase. With a quick bound she almost fell into the first room at the top of the stairs.
Bles Alwyn had hurried through his dinner duties and hastened to the Oaks. The questions, the doubts, the uncertainty within him were clamoring for utterance. How much had Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell ever known of Zora? What kind of a woman was Zora now? Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell had seen her and had talked to her and watched her. What did she think? Thus he formulated his questions as he went, half timid, and fearful in putting them and yet determined to know.
Mrs. ¬ÝCresswell, waiting for him, was almost panic-stricken. Probably he would beat round the bush seeking further encouragement; but at the