'Sibyl hates the sea.'
'She'd soon get over that. Seriously, you ought to think of it.'
Carnaby set his lips and for a moment hung his head.
'You're quite right. But—'
'A little pluck, old fellow.'
'I'll see what can be done. Have another whisky?'
They went out into the hall, where a dim light through coloured glass illumined a statue in terracotta, some huge engravings, the massive antlers of an elk, and furniture in carved oak.
'Queer feeling of emptiness,' said Carnaby, subduing his voice. 'I feel as if they'd carried off everything, and left bare walls. Sibyl couldn't stay in the place. Shall I whistle for a cab? By Jove! that reminds me, the whistle has gone; it happened to be silver. A wedding present from that fool Benson, who broke his neck in a steeplechase three weeks after.' Harvey laughed, and stepped out into the watery fog.