She felt even more senseless when she sank into a chair before
it and drew a sheet of note-paper towards her. Her thoughts would
not connect themselves with each other and she could not imagine
what she ought to say in her letter to Coombe. In fact she seemed
to have no thoughts at all. She could only remember the things
which had happened, and she actually found she could write nothing
else. There seemed nothing else in the world.
"Dear Lord Coombe," trailed tremulously over the page--"The house
is quite empty. The servants have gone away. I have no money. And
there is not any food. And I am going to be turned out into the
street--and the baby is crying because it is hungry."
She stopped there, knowing it was not what she ought to say. And
as she stopped and looked at the words she began herself to wail
somewhat as Robin had wailed in the dark when she would not listen
or go to her. It was like a beggar's letter--a beggar's! Telling
him that she had no money and no food--and would be turned out for
unpaid rent. And that the baby was crying because it was starving!
"It's a beggar's letter--just a beggar's," she cried out aloud
to the empty room. "And it's tru-ue!" Robin's wail itself had not
been more hopeless than hers was as she dropped her head and let
it lie on the buhl table.
She was not however even to be allowed to let it lie there, for
the next instant there fell on her startled ear quite echoing
through the house another ring at the doorbell and two steely raps
on the smart brass knocker.
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