Mrs. Berry took the tips of his fingers, and went half-way to the floor perpendicularly. “He pass her like a stranger in the park this evenin’,” she faltered.
“Ah?” said the baronet. “Yes, well! they will be at Raynham before the week is over.”
Mrs. Berry was not quite satisfied. “Not of his own accord he pass that sweet young wife of his like a stranger this day, Sir Austin!”
“I must beg you not to intrude further, ma’am.”
Mrs. Berry bobbed her bunch of a body out of the room.
“All’s well that ends well,” she said to herself. “It’s just bad inquirin’ too close among men. We must take ’em somethin’ like Providence—as they come. Thank heaven! I kep’ back the baby.”
In Mrs. Berry’s eyes the baby was the victorious reserve.
Adrian asked his chief what he thought of that specimen of woman.
“I think I have not met a better in my life,” said the baronet, mingling praise and sarcasm.
Clare lies in her bed as placid as in the days when she breathed; her white hands stretched their length along the sheets, at peace from head to feet. She needs iron no more. Richard is face to face with death for the first time. He sees the sculpture of clay—the spark gone.