He answered gravely, even solemnly.
"I do believe you, Mrs. Chesney."
At this Sophy broke down, and hiding her face from him cried bitterly.
LVI
It was most distressing to Mr. Surtees to see this tall, dignified woman collapse into such a bitter abandonment of weeping. He had even a secret affection for Sophy after his prim fashion. As poor Bobby would have said, it made him feel "rather sick" to sit there helplessly watching her. He had an almost irresistible impulse to put his hand on her shaking shoulder and pat it gently. Only the habit of a decorous legal lifetime restrained him. He fidgeted nervously with his glasses and the paper that she had handed back to him, began to mutter such words of consolation as he could think of.
"My dear lady ... my dear lady.... Compose yourself.... We shall find a way out.... I have suggestions ... yes, suggestions...."
Sophy reached out one hand to him blindly, her face still hidden. He took it gingerly but tenderly in both his own. Nature overcame decorum.
"My poor, poor child...." he said shakily.
As a staunch Conservative and member of the church of England, he had not approved of Sophy's divorce. In theory he was much shocked by the fact that she should have contemplated a third marriage. Yet, as she herself told it, her story took quite another aspect in the old lawyer's mind—seemed, in fact, the most natural and inevitable outcome of circumstances. The circumstances he still disapproved of, while sympathising, against his judgment and much to his own astonishment, with the romance that had resulted from them. And he felt highly indignant at the course pursued by Lady Wychcote.