"Her exercise and holidays were always taken alone?" Redcliff said.
"The Duchess believed so."
"She has evidently been living under a poignant strain and some ghastly shock has struck her down. I think she must have been in the room when you brought the news of young Muir's terrible death."
"She was," said Coombe. "I saw her and then forgot."
"I thought so," Redcliff went on. "She cried out several times, 'Blown to atoms—atoms! Donal!' She was not conscious of the cries."
"Are you sure she said 'Donal'?" Coombe asked.
"Quite sure. It was that which set me thinking. I have thought a great deal. She has touched me horribly. The mere sight of her was enough. There is desolation in her childlikeness."
Lord Coombe sat extremely still. The room was very silent till Redcliff went on in dropped voice.
"There was another thing she said. She whispered it brokenly word by word. She did not know that, either. She whispered, 'Now—no one—will ever—know—ever.'"