Without lifting her head she called:
"You'll find towels and a bathrobe in the passageway."
There was no reply. Miss Van Arsdale twisted in her chair, gave one
look, rose and strode to the threshold where Io Welland stood rigid and
still.
"What is it?" she demanded sharply.
The girl's hands gripped a folded newspaper. She lifted it as if for
Miss Van Arsdale's acceptance, then let it fall to the floor. Her throat
worked, struggling for utterance, as it might be against the pressure of
invisible fingers.
"The beast! Oh, the beast!" she whispered.
The older woman threw an arm over her shoulders and led her to the big
chair before the fireplace. Io let herself be thrust into it, stiff and
unyielding as a manikin. Any other woman but Camilla Van Arsdale would
have asked questions. She went more directly to the point. Picking up
the newspaper she opened it. Halfway across an inside page ran the
explanation of Io's collapse.
BRITON'S BEAUTIFUL FIANCEE LOST
read the caption, in the glaring vulgarity of extra-heavy type, and
below;
_Ducal Heir Offers Private Reward to Dinner Party of Friends_
After an estimating look at the girl, who sat quite still with hot,
blurred eyes, Miss Van Arsdale carefully read the article through.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123