Winn thought she was going to faint, but she didn’t. She held on to the table.
“What ought I to do, Major Staines?” she asked in a quavering voice.
Winn considered the question gravely. It was a little late in the day for Mrs. Bouncing to start what she ought to do, but he approved of her determination.
“I think,” he said at last — “I think you ought to go in and look at him. It’s usual.”
“Oh, dear!” said Mrs. Bouncing, with a shiver, “I never have seen a corpse!”
Winn escorted her to the bedside and then turned away from her. She looked down at her dead husband. Mr. Bouncing had no anxiety in his face at all now; he looked incredibly contented and young.
“I — I suppose he really is gone?” said Mrs. Bouncing in a low voice. Then she moved waveringly over to a big armchair.
“There is no doubt about it at all,” said Winn. “I didn’t ring up Gurnet. He will come in any case first thing to-morrow morning.”
Mrs. Bouncing moved her beringed hands nervously, and then suddenly began to cry. She cried quietly into her pocket-handkerchief, with her shoulders shaking.
“I wish things hadn’t happened!” she sobbed. “Oh, dear! I wish things hadn’t happened!” She did not refer to the death of Mr. Bouncing. Winn said nothing. “I really didn’t mean any harm,” Mrs. Bouncing went on between her sobs — “not at first. You know how things run on; and he’d been ill seven years, and one does like a little bit of fun, doesn’t one?”