“What has caused this?”
“John Exton’s arrest.”
“I must go at once.”
She stood up. Grimshaw said firmly:
“Forgive me—it isn’t safe.”
Lady Selina smiled incredulously. At the same time she was sensible of Grimshaw’s sympathy, of his unmistakable solicitude, expressed not so much by his voice, but by his eyes. She thought to herself: “This young man is considerate; he has the old-fashioned protective instincts about women.”
“Not safe, you mean, for your patient?”
Grimshaw never answered the question, because Goodrich came in through the French window, closing it after him; but significant sounds entered with him. Obviously some of the unruly were trespassing upon the Vicarage lawn, stamping down the moss.
“This is a revolt,” said the Lady of the Manor.
Goodrich might have replied: “No, madame; it’s revolution,” but he was beyond quotation. In a troubled voice he delivered a message.