"Wait, dearest...." he said. "Give me time to think...."
He sat frowning down at the floor for a few moments. Then he turned to her. He asked her about the Wychcotes' solicitor.
"Do you think this Mr. Surtees is really your friend?" he said when she had told him all about her relations with the old lawyer.
"Yes. I'm sure he is," she said positively. "Why?"
"Because, in that case, it seems to me that the best thing would be for you to wire him to meet you at Folkestone. You can then give him the true facts and ask his help—before trying to see Lady Wychcote."
"You think she's taken Bobby to England, Marco?— You feel sure of that?"
"I don't think there's a doubt of it. She will go straight to Surtees with her story; of that I feel positive."
"You mean that ... that she would want him to speak to ... the trustees?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yes, I'm afraid so," he assented. What he really thought was that Lady Wychcote would want to have the matter taken at once before the Court. But he could not bring himself to tell her this. Her shamed flush had hurt him horribly. It was intolerable that this revengeful old woman should have the power to sully and cloud their relations. Then fear seized him. What if Sophy were mistaken about the solicitor? What if he were a tool of Lady Wychcote? The possibilities that this idea disclosed appalled him. He went as white as Sophy had gone red.