“It was dreadful to see his face. I was with him this afternoon—”
The Squire said suddenly:
“He's not ill, is he?”
“No, not ill. Oh, Horace, don't you understand? I was afraid he might do something rash. He was so—miserable.”
The Squire began to walk up and down.
“Is he—is he safe now?” he burst out.
Mrs. Pendyce sat down rather suddenly in the nearest chair.
“Yes,” she said with difficulty, “I—I think so.”
“Think! What's the good of that? What—— Are you feeling faint, Margery?”
Mrs. Pendyce, who had closed her eyes, said: