Breton contributed very little to the conversation during dinner. He ate almost nothing, drank only water, looked about him restlessly, muttered something about its being strangely close for March, crumbled up his bread into little heaps.
When they were back in Christopher's smoking-room Breton collapsed into a deep chair, lay there, staring desperately about him, then, with a jerk, pulled himself up and began to stride the room, swinging his arm, then pulling at his beard, crying out at last, "My God! it's stifling. Christopher—I must go out. I can't stand this. It's beyond my bearing."
Christopher made him sit down again and then, feeling that he could not more surely hold the man than by plunging at once into what was, in all probability, the heart of his trouble, said:
"Look here, Frank, I said I wouldn't badger you and I won't, but there's something about which I must speak to you. You must tell me the truth. There's more involved than just ourselves."
Breton seemed instantly aware of Christopher's meaning. He sat up. "I knew," he said, "that I was in for a lecture. Well, it can't make any difference."
"No," Christopher answered brusquely. "Whether it makes any difference to you or no you've got to listen, Frank. It's simply this. I happened to hear, a good time ago, that you had met Rachel. I knew that she had been to your rooms. I knew that you had corresponded. I should dismiss that man-servant of yours, Frank."
Breton muttered something.
"You might have told me yourself, Frank. You might, both of you, have told me. But never mind—it's all too late for that now. The point is that it was your grandmother that told me."
"My God!" Breton cried. "She knows? She knew.... But there was nothing to know. There was nothing anyone mightn't have known. If anyone dares to breathe a syllable against one of the purest, noblest ..."
"Yes, yes. I know all that," Christopher answered. "But the thing is simply this. I don't know—she doesn't know exactly what the truth is between you and Rachel. All that she does know is that Rachel went to see you and wrote to you. Now Roddy Seddon isn't—or wasn't aware that his wife had ever met you. He holds the more or less traditional family point of view about you. I believe that, two or three days ago, the Duchess told him about Rachel's visits. I am not sure of this. I hope that by now Rachel herself has told her husband. But of that also I'm not sure. All I know is that it's our duty—your duty and my duty to save Rachel all the unhappiness we can, and still more to save Roddy. Remember the position he's in."