"At far-off Salsomaggiore—by the papers? No doubt indeed he isn't spared even the worst," said Lady Grace—"and no doubt too it's a drag on his cure."
Her companion seemed struck with her lack of assurance. "Then you don't—if I may ask—hear from him?"
"I? Never a word."
"He doesn't write?" Hugh allowed himself to insist. "He doesn't write. And I don't write either."
"And Lady Sandgate?" Hugh once more ventured. "Doesn't she write?"
"Doesn't she hear?" said the young man, treating the other form of the question as a shade evasive.
"I've asked her not to tell me," his friend replied—"that is if he simply holds out."
"So that as she doesn't tell you"—Hugh was clear for the inference—"he of course does hold out." To which he added almost accusingly while his eyes searched her: "But your
