She looked at him steadily.
“Even if it is for one who—for the one who lies upstairs now—dead?”
Haddon bent his head.
“Even for him—at your bidding.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“I will take you home now, Beatrice,” said Tom, curtly. “We are not wanted here.”
Monica looked questioningly at him, as she gave him her hand, to see what this abruptness might signify. He returned her gaze with equal intensity.
“I believe you are an angel, Monica,” he said, lifting her hand for a moment to his lips; “but there are moments when fallen mortals like ourselves feel the angelic presence a little overpowering.”