Suddenly Rosamund's face changed from its blankness to a look of horror.
"Then—if—I—had gone away, as he wanted me to—Oh! Eleanor, then he would not—"
But Eleanor's arms were around her. "Don't, Rosamund! Don't let yourself do that! There's not one of us could live and be sane, if we dwelt on our 'ifs'!"
"But it is true!"
"It is not true. It is not! Because there was no 'if'; there could not have been! You had to stay; you had to obey your own reasoning, not his. We all have to decide for ourselves. It is when we don't, that we get into trouble. I can assure you of that, I of all others. I married because I was told it was the best thing to do—but you must forget I told you that!"
At least it brought Rosamund to a thought of something else. "Eleanor!" she exclaimed, her hand reaching out towards her friend.
But it was not the moment for Eleanor to think of herself. "Rose, listen to me," she said. "Someone set fire to the house. There is no doubt of that. Now you will have to make up your mind what to do—there will have to be an inquiry, they say."
"Why?"
"Why? Because the people who look after those things will want to find out who did it. They will want to fix the blame."
"But I don't understand! It is my house! What difference does it make to anyone else?"