Mr. Sabin gently dissented.
“I know quite as much as any doctor,” he said; “the man is not dead, or dying, or likely to die. I wonder if we could move him on to that sofa!”
Together they managed it somehow. Mr. Sabin, in the course of his movements to and fro about the room, was attracted by the sight of the dogcart still waiting outside. He frowned, and stood for a moment looking thoughtfully at it. Then he went outside.
“Are you waiting for Lord Wolfenden?” he asked the groom.
The man looked up in surprise.
“Yes, sir. I set him down here nearly an hour ago. I had no orders to go home.”
“Lord Wolfenden has evidently forgotten all about you,” Mr. Sabin said. “He left by the back way for the golf course, and I am going to join him there directly. He is not coming back here at all. You had better go home, I should think.”
The man touched his hat.
“Very good, sir.”
There was a little trampling up of the gravel, and Wolfenden’s dogcart rapidly disappeared in the distance. Mr. Sabin, with set face and a hard glitter in his eyes went back into the morning room. Helène was still on her knees by Wolfenden’s prostrate figure when he entered. She spoke to him without looking up.