Cheneston came out of the door on the right, I suppose it was his study. He held a letter in his hand. He was in khaki again, and he looked ill and worried.
"Good-morning," I said. I noticed he had his Burberry over his arm, and his service cap and a small dispatch case under his arm.
"You've heard?" he said.
"What?" I said stupidly, and my heart began to beat very rapidly.
"That Markham is in England—wounded. Oh! Pam—you shan't suffer, because you've been so splendid and wonderful. You ought to be with him; but he'll spare you, and understand when he knows."
"Where are you going?" I said desperately.
"Up to Lynn Lytton to tell him I understand that you care for each other, that you've told me all about it, and that we're not engaged to each other. To tell him how absolutely superb you've been, and why you're here. My God! Pam, do you think I'd ever forgive myself if I mucked up your life, dear!"
IX
"You—you mustn't go to Walter," I pleaded desperately. "I—I want to go myself."
I had one thought; it was so vivid that it seemed like something dressed in scarlet floating on a grey sea of little thoughts and fears all inextricably mixed—it was that I must get to Walter Markham first and explain.