“I’ve got a time-table here.” Sir Thomas fumbled interminably, pulled out a little paper book at last, and began to flutter the leaves.
The doctor took it out of his hands, consulted it, shut it to again, and took his hat.
“I’ve just time. I’ll meet the train, take her straight to see the boy, and then meet you here again.”
He reached the station as the train drew up at the platform.
He saw her at once, her tall figure swinging itself from the carriage before the train had stopped moving.
Staring at him, she gripped his arm in both hands and said in a voice, toneless, as though she had rehearsed the sentence over and over again:
“Is he dead? Don’t break it to me, but tell me at once.”
“He’s alive and well. But he’s got into trouble and they’ve arrested him for theft.”
“Nothing else? You swear you’re not keeping anything back—there isn’t anything else to tell me?”
“I swear it, Rose. There’s nothing else.”