“Oh! tell me—tell me—” She turned suddenly on Ronny. “ You’ll tell me.”
Jimmy felt a pang of jealousy, and in that moment he knew what up to now he had hesitated to admit to himself. He knew why Helen and Nancy and Socks were just “girls” to him and nothing more.
He only half heard Ronny’s voice saying gravely:
“Yes, Miss Wade, I’ll tell you. Gerry is dead.”
She had plenty of pluck. She gasped and drew back, but in a minute or two she was asking eager, searching questions. How? When?
Ronny answered her as gently as he could.
“ Sleeping draught? Gerry?”
The incredulity in her voice was plain.
Jimmy gave her a glance. It was almost a glance of warning. He had a sudden feeling that Loraine in her innocence might say too much.
In his turn he explained as gently as possible the need for an inquest. She shuddered. She declined their offer of taking her back to Chimneys with them, but explained she would come over later. She had a two-seater of her own.
“But I want to be—be alone a little first,” she said piteously.
“I know,” said Ronny.
“That’s all right,” said Jimmy.
They looked at her, feeling awkward and helpless.
“Thank you both ever so much for coming.”