"All the same," Simon continued resolutely, "it would have been even more trying if you'd been left in your room, wouldn't it?"
Again her expression changed like magic; in a moment she looked utterly woebegone.
"Yes," she said in a low voice. "Like — like John."
She turned wide, distressed eyes on him.
"I–I can't think what could have happened," she said tremulously. "He — he must have heard the alarm, and I–I know he wasn't drunk or anything like that. He couldn't have committed suicide, could he? Nobody would commit suicide like — like that."
She seemed to be begging him to reassure her that Kennet had not committed suicide; there were actually tears in her eyes. Simon was puzzled.
"No, he didn't commit suicide," he answered. "I'll bet anything on that. But why should you think of it?"
"Well, we did have the most awful row," and — and I swore I'd never speak to him again, and he seemed to take it rather to heart. Of course I didn't really mean it, but I was getting awfully fed up with the whole silly business, and he was being terribly stupid and awkward and unreasonable."
"Were you engaged to him, or something like that?"
"Oh no. Of course he may have thought… But then, nobody takes those things seriously. Oh, damn! It's all so hopelessly foul and horrible, and all just because of a silly bet."