A silence followed Cornish's heroic speech, and it was perhaps better to face it than stave it off.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Vansittart, at the end of that pause, “I am a widow and childless. I see the questions in your face.”
Cornish gave a little nod of the head, and looked out of the window. Mrs. Vansittart was only a year older than himself, but the difference in their life and experience, when they had learnt to know each other at Weimar, had in some subtle way augmented the seniority.
“Then you never—” he said, and paused.
“No,” she answered lightly. “So I am what the world calls independent, you see. No encumbrance of any sort.”
Again he nodded without speaking.
“The line between an encumbrance and a purpose is not very clearly defined, is it?” she said lightly; and then added a question, “What are you doing in The Hague—Malgamite?”
“Yes,” he answered, in surprise, “Malgamite.”
“Oh, I know all about it,” laughed Mrs. Vansittart. “I see Dorothy Roden at least once a week.”
“But she takes no part in it.”