“I do not think so,” he answered, “unless you care to hear whether Miss Granger recovers?”
“I shall hear that in the morning,” she said. “Poor thing, I cannot help her.”
“No, Lady Honoria, you cannot help her. She saved your husband’s life, they say.”
“She must be a brave girl. Will she recover?”
The assistant shook his head. “She may, possibly. It is not likely now.”
“Poor thing, and so young and beautiful! What a lovely face, and what an arm! It is very awful for her,” and Lady Honoria shuddered again and went.
Outside the door a small knot of sympathisers was still gathered, notwithstanding the late hour and the badness of the weather.
“That’s his wife,” said one, and they opened to let her pass.
“Then why don’t she stop with him?” asked a woman audibly. “If it had been my husband I’d have sat and hugged him for an hour.”
“Ay, you’d have killed him with your hugging, you would,” somebody answered.