"Really!" he said again, subtle encouragement in his voice.
Mrs. Sheppard suddenly clasped her hands against her bosom and went close to him. "Oh, Charlie, I do think--sometimes--divorce is the only way. You know she has always loved you. And it isn't your fault you came too late. Charlie, if the chance were to come to you again--the chance to make her your wife--you wouldn't--surely you couldn't--let it slip again?"
"Again!" said Saltash. His lip lifted a little. He was looking at her fixedly.
She made a small nervous gesture of pleading. "You would marry her, Charlie, if you could. She loves you. You would never--never----"
"Let her down?" suggested Saltash.
His expression was utterly cynical, yet something in those queer eyes of his emboldened her. She placed her two hands against his shoulders, and suffered the tears to run down her face.
"Charlie, I am wretched about her--quite wretched. Save her from that rough cow-herd, Charlie! Make her your own--in spite of all!"
She broke down into muffled sobbing, and would have leaned upon him for support had he permitted it. But with gentle decision he eluded her, taking her hands and leading her to a chair.
"Now, Lady Brian, there is no need for this agitation, believe me. For the present there is nothing to be done. Bunny occupies the centre of the stage. He won't, of course, remain there for ever, but he has got to have his turn. Till that is over, we can only possess our souls in patience."
"But afterwards!" wailed Mrs. Sheppard. "It is the afterwards that troubles me."