Robert Grimshaw hung his head for a moment, and then:
“I did,” he said.
Katya only answered, “Ah!” Then, very slowly, she came over and put one hand on Pauline’s shoulder. “Oh, you poor dear,” she exclaimed, and then to Robert: “Then you’d better come and tell him so. I’ll stake my new hat to my professional reputation that it’ll put him on to his legs at once.”
And with an air of taking him finally under her wing, she conducted him down the passage to Dudley Leicester’s room.
In the dining-room Pauline stood for a long time looking down at her fingers that rested upon the tablecloth. The air was full of little noises—the clitter of milk-cans, the monotonous sound of water pulsing continuously from the mains, the voices of two nurses as they wheeled their charges home from the Park. The door-bell rang, but no one disturbed her. With the light falling on her hair, absolutely motionless, she looked down at her fingers on the white cloth and smiled faintly.
II
IN the long, dark room where Dudley Leicester still sprawled in his deep chair, Katya stopped Robert Grimshaw near the door.
“I’ll ask him to ask you his question,” she said, “and you’ll answer it in as loud a voice as you can. That’ll cure him. You’ll see. I don’t suppose you expected to see me here.”
“I didn’t expect it,” he answered, “but I know why you have come.”
“Well,” she said, “if he isn’t cured, you’ll be hanging round him for ever.”