He turned towards her; on his face was the look of a man who has escaped a great danger.
“Poor Ronaldson is dead. It has come suddenly at the last. No doubt I shall find a telegram at home.”
He spoke in his most every-day tones, but he did not look at her.
She summoned all her strength, all her pride:
“Then I suppose you will be going down there to-morrow?”
Her voice never faltered.
“No; in any case I must wait till after the funeral.”
He looked down stiffly. It was she who kept her presence of mind.
“Don’t you want to buy a paper and to tell Adelaide?”
“If you will excuse me. Where shall I leave you?”