“Poor Maggie!” said Frances gently.
“Yes.” He nodded acquiescence. “Maggie and Nan—Ruth’s mother—were always the pals, you see. There was only a year between them. Nan was Arthur’s favourite sister too. He’s feeling it pretty badly—though he’d sooner die than let anyone know.”
Frances felt her heart contract. She said nothing.
They were out upon the open moor road before Oliver volunteered anything further. Then, somewhat abruptly, with a sidelong glance at her, he said, “It’s decent of you to come back to us after the fright you had.”
“I am only coming for little Ruth’s sake,” Frances said.
“Yes, I know. The doctor told me. I didn’t think he’d get you to come,” said Oliver frankly. “You’d had a pretty bad scare. But it might have been worse, I suppose. The fellow wasn’t much damaged, was he?”
There was curiosity in his tone tempered with a reticence that she was quick to detect. A sharp sense of anger surged within her.
“It was no thanks to—to—the man who shot him that he wasn’t killed,” she said.
“No. I know,” said Oliver. He added after a moment, “Anyway I did my best to prevent it. It wasn’t my fault that it happened.”
She turned upon him. “But—surely you didn’t know it was going to happen?” she said.