“These things will occur,” said Garnet, casting his eyes up to the ceiling. “In fact they do so, I may say, almost daily. Death is terrible at all times and under any circumstances—that is a truism everyone must admit; but all things considered I really do not think there is any great reason to repine in this case. I have lost an old friend and companion, and you have lost a husband, and we have, of course, both of us reason to mourn. Still, matters might have been worse.”
“They might have been, I admit,” said Mrs. Bourne.
“This is a shock to you, a sad blow,” cried Garnet, placing his hand on her shoulder with well-simulated kindness of manner. “Let me again beg of you to bear it with becoming fortitude. I will be with you in the morning after I have given notice to the coroner. Till then, adieu, my dear madam. I need hardly say that it will afford me great pleasure in being of service to you in this matter.”
“You are very kind, I am sure, Mr. Garnet. Accept my thanks. At the present moment I find it difficult, and indeed, I may say impossible, to realise the terrible reality which has been presented to us so suddenly.”
“Of course not. I can well understand that,” observed the oily-tongued doctor; “but do not worry yourself, the worst is over. I was not prepared for such an ending, but all things considered, it is after all but a natural sequence, and not so much to be regretted as we at first supposed.”
“Not to be regretted, Doctor Garnet?”
“Umph. Well, no, not so much, my dear madam.”
“What do you mean? Are you of opinion that my husband was guilty of the charge preferred against him?”
“Really, Mrs. Bourne, you must excuse me. You cannot expect me to answer such a query. I should not be justified in hazarding an opinion at this early stage of the inquiry. Still you know people will draw their own conclusions after what has occurred. Be thankful that you are here.”
“I now perfectly understand your meaning.”