“One would suppose,” said Mr. Boldero, “that he had come from South America.”
“Nothing else?”
“Nothing.”
Gerald’s soul had not been compelled to abandon much in the haste of its flight.
A servant announced that Mrs. Scales’s friends were waiting for her outside in the motor-car. Sophia glanced at Mr. Till Boldero with an exacerbated anxiety on her face.
“Surely they don’t expect me to go back with them tonight!” she said. “And look at all there is to be done!”
Mr. Till Boldero’s kindness was then redoubled. “You can do nothing for HIM now,” he said. “Tell me your wishes about the funeral. I will arrange everything. Go back to your sister to-night. She will be nervous about you. And return tomorrow or the day after.... No! It’s no trouble, I assure you!”
She yielded.
Thus towards eight o’clock, when Sophia had eaten a little under Mr. Boldero’s superintendence, and the pawnshop was shut up, the motor-car started again for Bursley, Lily Holl being beside her lover and Sophia alone in the body of the car. Sophia had told them nothing of the nature of her mission. She was incapable of talking to them. They saw that she was in a condition of serious mental disturbance. Under cover of the noise of the car, Lily said to Dick that she was sure Mrs. Scales was ill, and Dick, putting his lips together, replied that he meant to be in King Street at nine-thirty at the latest. From time to time Lily surreptitiously glanced at Sophia—a glance of apprehensive inspection, or smiled at her silently; and Sophia vaguely responded to the smile.
In half an hour they had escaped from the ring of Manchester and were on the county roads of Cheshire, polished, flat, sinuous. It was the season of the year when there is no night—only daylight and twilight; when the last silver of dusk remains obstinately visible for hours. And in the open country, under the melancholy arch of evening, the sadness of the earth seemed to possess Sophia anew. Only then did she realize the intensity of the ordeal through which she was passing.