“Why do you say that?” he asked curiously.
“Because she’s not the kind of woman to be afraid of anything obvious, anything she can see and even partly understand. If poor Perkins had done away with herself then, I rather think Mrs. Thursby would have been as much fascinated as horrified. Don’t you know that sort? It would have given her something to talk about for the rest of her life with no one to interrupt; something infinitely more intriguing than her husband’s grenades, or whatever they are. How do you feel yourself about that?”
“I’m not quite sure,” he said candidly. “What I did feel about the house until yesterday seems to have gone this morning, as though a wind had blown through it with all the windows open. But I wouldn’t mind subletting now, if there were any chance of it, which there isn’t at this time of year. So we have it for another nine months anyway.”
“You couldn’t very well bring Jean back here,” she murmured thoughtfully.
He shook his head. “No, I couldn’t.”
Edith got up with the sudden remembrance that her hands were very full.
“Well, I suppose there’s time enough for that, and anyway you have to marry her first. Wouldn’t it be queer if—” She broke off with a little laugh.
“If what?”
“Nothing, I’m only wandering, and of course just when there’s no time for it. Please put these things on that tray and open the pantry door. I won’t expect you for tea.”
He went off a little later, passing Martin, who only touched his cap. He did look like another man, but neither of them spoke. The shadow of despair seemed to have left his face and to be replaced by a gravity that was new and dignified. Derrick strode on with the consciousness that the wind had blown through himself as well as Beech Lodge. He admitted his debt to Edith and now saw her cheerful sanity in a fresh light. It was strange to have leaned on a person, however dear, because they were incapable of being torn by one’s own reactions. How bright she was! How helpful and practical! What a standby!