He nodded.
“I haven’t been able to realize about the war, yet,” she said thoughtfully, and by-and-bye added, with her curious directness: “I suppose a good many people might say that it would be the best thing for Cecil to be killed in the war, before he’d had time to make a worse hash of things.”
The drive appeared to have steadied her, and when the taxi stopped she got out at once, only saying earnestly to Lucian:
“Promise not to go. You won’t leave me?”
“I promise.”
They found Sir Thomas alone. Lucian noted with relief that he seemed to be calmer, as though his fury had spent itself in shouts and denunciations.
“How d’ye do, Rose. This is a dreadful business. I’ve had Calvert on the telephone—first-class man, very clever fellow, I’m told. We’ve got an appointment with him at his office in an hour’s time. Did you keep your cab?”
“Yes,” said the doctor. “It’ll wait. We’ve come from the police station, Sir Thomas.”
The old man groaned. “Sit down, Rose, you look done up,” he said not unkindly. “No wonder, either. What d’you make of this affair?”
Rose sank heavily into a chair. “Ces is broken up,” she said piteously.