“Good-bye, Mr. Stukeley,” said Howard.
“Shake hands.”
“No, thank you.”
Stukeley looked at him with some amusement.
“Oxford man. Eh!” he said, and passed out. Olivia stood swaying, looking after him, calling to him, through her tears.
“Will you come, Olivia?” Margaret asked her gently.
“Come with you, Charles? With you? You believe Tom guilty.”
“Olivia,” Perrin said, “this goes round your throat, doesn’t it? Then, here’s your glove. You mustn’t forget your glove.” He helped her with her things, evidently deeply pained.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, speaking as one stunned.
“Take my arm,” Perrin whispered. “Let’s get into the fresh air.”