And then the dear, kind man just laid his hand on my arm.
‘I’m awfully sorry,’ he said; ‘you can’t think how I hate to tell you this. I hope it will be all right; there is nothing yet that forbids me to hope that. Please God, we shall pull her through, but—well, well.’
He broke off as the door opened, and a servant came in.
‘Just bring a tray in here,’ he said. ‘Tea? Yes, tea, and an egg and a couple of bits of toast. Thank you.’
‘Remember, I still hope it will be all right,’ he said. ‘And even if—well, you are both young still. Now I shall be back here in an hour at the outside.’
‘You are not going,’ I said. ‘You mustn’t.’
‘Yes, yes. I know what you feel,’ he said. ‘But there is nothing for me to do here yet, and I have to make arrangements so that I can come back and remain here till all—is satisfactory.’
‘You don’t stir from this house,’ I said.
‘Do you think I should go if there was the slightest possibility of your wife needing me?’ he said quietly.
‘No; I beg your pardon.’