He shook hands with Catherine, and sat down on a small chair, which broke into fragments beneath his extremely ponderous frame, leaving him couched in splinters on the floor. He said “Damn!” quite distinctly, and struggled to his feet.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” said Catherine. “I hope you are not hurt?”
“Not in the least, but the chair is,” he said. “Yes, I have been with your husband for the last hour.”
He found a more reliable seat.
“Now, be brave,” he said.
Then his wonderful skill in dealing with people, whether the sick or the whole, showed itself. There was dreadful news he had to tell to this beautiful woman, but in spite of the obsoleteness of the phrase “breaking the news,” news could still be prepared for. It was wise to start like that, to say “Be brave,” and then, since he knew he was dealing with a brave woman, to wait for her bracing herself up to it.
“I know I am allowed to smoke a cigarette,” he said, thus securing his moment’s pause, “though it is most unprofessional.”
Catherine’s courage had sunk for a moment, like the mercury in a thermometer exposed to zero, but in that pause she recalled it again. It was that he had been waiting for.
“Lord Thurso has lived through twenty-four hours,” he said, “and immediate danger is really over. The attack he had was enough to kill most people. It has not killed him, and he will not now die of this attack. He may have others, but I don’t see why he should, unless he provokes them himself.”
He flicked the charred end of his cigarette.