‘And you think she—she——’
Granville could not bring his lips to utter the words.
Alfred could. ‘I think she has drowned herself,’ he said calmly.
Granville shuddered. Callous as he was himself by nature, callousness such as this he could not have imagined possible; it was horrible to see and to hear.
Neither spoke for some little time.
‘Did it never occur to you,’ said Granville, at last, ‘that she might have drowned herself without all this trouble, simply by walking to the bottom of the garden here?’
‘What?’ cried Alfred, sharply. His fingers tightened upon Granville’s arm. His voice fell, oddly enough, into a natural tone.
Granville repeated his question.
‘No,’ said Alfred, hoarsely, ‘that never crossed my mind. But there’s something in it. God bless you, Gran, for putting it into my head! It’s almost like a ray of hope—the first. If I hadn’t seen the things and identified them as hers——’
‘The things! You did not say there was anything else besides the hat. What else was there?’