you think. Telegraph to the London office and ask when the _Lusitania_
will reach Naples.'

'If you like. But, for one thing, it's quite certain you oughtn't to
travel in less than a week; and then -- what about Hughie?'

Alma's face darkened with vexation.

'It doesn't matter,' she said coldly. 'I had counted on it; but, of
course, that's nothing. There's the baby to be considered first.'

Harvey had never been so near the point of answering his wife in rough,
masculine fashion. This illness of hers had unsettled his happy frame of
mind, perturbing him with anxious thoughts, and making confusion of the
quiet, reasonable prospect that lay before him only a week or two ago.
He, too, could much have enjoyed the run to Naples and the voyage back,
and disappointment taxed his patience. Irritated against Alma, and
ashamed of himself for not being better tempered, he turned and left the
room. A few minutes afterwards he walked to the post-office, where he
addressed a telegram of inquiry to the Orient Line people in London. It
was useless, of course; but he might as well satisfy Alma.

The reply telegram was delivered to him as he sauntered about in the
garden. It merely confirmed his calculation; there might possibly be a
clear five days before the _Lusitania_ touched at Naples -- most likely
not more than four. He went into the sitting-room, but Alma was not
there; he looked into the study, and found it vacant. As Ruth happened
to pass, he bade her take the telegram to Mrs. Rolfe upstairs.

He had no mind for reading or for any other occupation. He shut his