Mrs Van Heldre took his hand and held it.
“He said,” she whispered slowly, “That it grieved and pained him to see you come to his bedside, looking as if you felt that we blamed you for what has passed. He said you had far more cause to blame him.”
“No, no,” said Vine hastily. “I do not blame him. It was fate—it was fate.”
“It wasn’t anything of the kind,” said Mrs Van Heldre sharply; “it was that stupid, obstinate, bigoted, wrong-headed old fellow Crampton.”
“Who felt that he owed a duty to his master, and did that duty.”
“Oh!” sighed the little woman with a look of perplexity in her puckered-up forehead, “I told you that I was a very stupid woman. I wanted to make you more cheerful and contented, and see what I have done!”
“How can I be cheerful and contented, my good little woman?” said Vine sadly. “There, there! I shall be glad when a couple of years have gone.”
“Why?” said Mrs Van Heldre, sharply.
“Because I shall either be better able to bear my burden or be quite at rest.”
“George Vine!” exclaimed Mrs Van Heldre reproachfully. “Is that you speaking? Louise—remember Louise.”