"I didn't know...." murmured Sophy, her eyes fixed in horror on the empty bottle. "I didn't know that ... that.... I thought it was poisonous...."
"Oh, no, madam! It's methylated spirits you're thinking of. This is ninety-five-proof—pure alcohol. It's done, madam. I've heard of it's being done. But I never thought...."
He too stopped, overcome.
Sophy looked at the little servant helplessly.
"I don't know what to do, Gaynor," she said, in the voice of a child. "What can I do?"
"Would you come speak to him, madam, through the door? He might answer you."
"Yes, I'll come," she said. She looked at him out of appalled eyes. "But don't leave me, Gaynor, will you? Come, too."
"No, no, madam. I'll not leave you. Never fear."
Together the little grey figure and the tall white one stole down the corridor to Chesney's door.
Sophy put her mouth close to the crevice of the door. Her heart was beating so that it shook her lips against the wood.