“I was terrified lest she should wreck both your lives,” She answered. “She cared so much for money, and the things money can buy. Without it, she might have grown bitter and hard and reckless. With it, she wil grow kinder, I think. She felt Basil’s death very much. She shed the most genuine tears she has ever shed in her life. Dudley, if Basil had known that this was coming, it would have been a great comfort to him.”
“He did know.”
“He knew!…” in surprise. “How could he?”
“I told him. I saw he was fretting very much about you, and I guessed what was in his mind. I told him I loved you better than my life; and he said: ‘Thank God, it will all come right some day.’”
“Ah, I am glad that he knew. Dear Basil, dear Basil. If he had been less splendid, Dudley, I think I should have taken my own life when he died and left me alone. But in the face of courage like his, one could not be a coward.”
Later Dudley took her home. At the door he asked her pleadingly:
“May I came in for a moment? I want to see the flat as it looks now.”
She led the way, and they stood together in the little sitting-room where Basil had lived and died, and where Dudley’s flowers now shed a fragrance of welcome.
She buried her face in the delicate petals, with memories, and thoughts, and feelings too deep for words.
“It feels almost as if his spirit were here with us now,” he said softly. “He was so sure he was only going to a grander and wider life. I think he must have been right; and that tonight he knows.”