"You do mean——? Arthur, you do mean——?"
"Yes, she's gone with him." He could not look at Godfrey; his speech was no more than a mutter. He felt the grasp on his wrist tighten, till it hurt him.
"The damned villain! I knew it! The infernal villain, Arthur!" Godfrey cried querulously.
Clearly an assent was required. Arthur's was inadequate. "Awfully bad business! Try to—to be calm, old fellow, while I tell you about it."
"Yes, yes, tell me!"
There was really nothing material left to tell, but Godfrey was greedy for details; such as there were to tell or conjecture he extracted by rapid questioning, even to the telegram which had come for Judith. Not till the end did he relax his hold on Arthur's wrist and lean back again on his pillows.
He lay silent like that for a long time, with Arthur silent beside him. His rage against Oliver seemed spent almost in the moment of its outburst; to his companion's relief he said nothing about Bernadette's conduct. He lay pathetically quiet, looking tired now, rather than angry or distressed. At last he gave a long sigh. "Well, we know where we are now!" he said.
That piece of knowledge had come to more than one inmate of the house in the last twelve hours.
"We must face the situation, Arthur. It's come to a crisis! I think I'm equal to getting up and—and facing the situation."
"Well, you know, there's no particular use in your——"