“Yes.”
“Oh, poor thing—poor thing!”
They paused awhile, the minutes delving an abyss between them till he threw a few irrelevant words across the silence.
“One of the gardeners found them.”
“Poor thing!”
“It was sufficiently horrible.”
“Horrible—oh!” She had swung round again to her pole. “Poor Denis! You were not there—you didn’t have to—?”
“I had to see her.” She felt the instant relief in his voice. He could talk now, could distend his nerves in the warm air of her sympathy. “I had to identify her.” He rose nervously and began to pace the room. “It’s knocked the wind out of me. I—my God! I couldn’t foresee it, could I?” He halted before her with outstretched hands of argument. “I did all I could—it’s not my fault, is it?”
“Your fault? Denis!”
“She wouldn’t take the money—” He broke off, checked by her awakened glance.