Placid as she was, the table was not a cheerful place, for the faces of
the other two were haggard and drawn, and neither made more than a
pretence of eating. Daily bulletins came from the other house as to
Allison's condition, and Madame was in constant communication by
telegraph with Colonel Kent. She kept him reassured as much as possible,
and did not tell him of Allison's ineradicable delusion that his father
was dead.
Allison's note was given to Isabel at luncheon the day after it was
written, having been delayed in delivery the night before until after
she was asleep. With it was a letter from her mother, which had come in
the noon mail.
She opened Allison's note first, read it, and put it back into the
envelope. Her mother's letter was almost equally brief. That, too, she
returned to its envelope without comment.
"How is your mother, Isabel?" inquired Madame, having caught a glimpse
of the bold, dashing superscription which was familiar, though
infrequent.
"She's all right," Isabel answered, breaking open a hot muffin. "It's
funny that it should come at the same time as the other.
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