“Nobody knows for certain. He may die, of course.”
The child pondered a few moments, then she asked:
“But do you think he will die?”
It was put almost like a question in geography or science, insistent, as if she would force an admission from the adult. The watchful, slightly triumphant child was almost diabolical.
“Do I think he will die?” repeated Gudrun. “Yes, I do.”
But Winifred’s large eyes were fixed on her, and the girl did not move.
“He is very ill,” said Gudrun.
A small smile came over Winifred’s face, subtle and sceptical.
“I don’t believe he will,” the child asserted, mockingly, and she moved away into the drive. Gudrun watched the isolated figure, and her heart stood still. Winifred was playing with a little rivulet of water, absorbedly as if nothing had been said.
“I’ve made a proper dam,” she said, out of the moist distance.