"Dick!" she said in amazement.
There was a certain awful intentness in his look. "I hold him responsible for this," he said.
She gazed at him, assailed by a swift wonder as to his sanity.
In a second he saw the doubt and replied to it, still with that deadly quietness that seemed to her more terrible than violence. "I know what I am saying. He is—directly responsible. My boy died for my sake, because he believed what Jack told him—that no woman would ever consent to marry me while he lived."
"Oh, Dick! You don't mean—he did it—on purpose!" Juliet's voice was quick with pain. "Dick, surely—surely—it wasn't that! You are making a mistake!"
"No. It is no mistake," he said, with sombre conviction. "I know it. Mrs. Rickett knows it too. It's been preying on his mind ever since. He hasn't been well. He's suffered with his head a good deal lately. He—" He stopped himself. "There's no need to distress you over this. Thank you for coming. I didn't really expect you. Is he—is Jack—waiting to take you back?"
"No," said Juliet quietly.
His brows went up. "You are sleeping at the Court? I'll take you there."
"I'm not going yet, Dick," she said gently, "unless you turn me out."
His face quivered unexpectedly. He turned from her. "There's—nothing to wait for," he said.