“Then you lost?”
“Yes.”
“I’m very glad.”
“Thank you,” dryly.
Gwen stood looking at him, noting vaguely the lines that had deepened in his face, and wondering what to do.
“Lawrie.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother is ill. She fainted, and Bob carried her upstairs.”
He winced, but his face did not soften.
“You must have behaved like a blackguard to her,” and there was a tremor of intense feeling in Gwen’s voice.