"Come quietly," said Dodo.
But all her pity was stirred, and as they went along the passage to Hugh's room, she slipped her arm into his. She knew that her coup was slightly theatrical, but there seemed no better way of showing him. It might fail: he might still desire explanations, but it was worth trying.
"And remember I am sorry," she said, "and be sure that Nadine will be sorry."
"Riddles," said Seymour.
"Yes, my dear, riddles if you will," said she. "But you may guess the answer."
Dodo quietly turned the handle of the door into the nurse's room, and entered with her arm still in his. She made a sign of silence, and took Seymour straight through into the sick-room. All was as she had left it a quarter-of-an-hour ago; Nadine still slept and Hugh, in that same attitude of security and love. Her head was drooped; she slept as only children and lovers sleep. But Dodo with all her intuition did not see as much as Seymour, who loved her, saw. The truth of it was branded into his brain, whereas it only shone in hers. She saw the situation: he felt it.
Then with a signal of pressure on his arm, she led him out again.
"She has been there all night," she said. "She only fell asleep at dawn."
They were in the passage again before Seymour spoke.
"There is no need for me to awake her or talk to her," he said. "You were quite right. And I congratulate you on your ensemble. I should have guessed that it required most careful rehearsal. And I should have been wrong. And now, for God's sake, don't be kind and tender—"