“It’s grand, Ma’am. He’s one in a million. He’s the only one I know who was good enough. I was afraid she was going to throw herself away on Mr. O’Hara.... But she ought to have a younger man.”
She turned away from him, pleased and relieved from the anxiety which had never really left her since the moment they drove off into the darkness. She kept thinking, “Higgins is always right about people. He has a second sight.” Somehow, of them all, she trusted him most as a judge.
John Pentland led her away, out of range of Higgins’ curiosity, along the hedge that bordered the gardens. The news seemed to affect him strangely, for he had turned pale, and for a long time he simply stood looking over the hedge in silence. At last he asked, “When did they do it?”
“Last night.... She went for a drive with him and they didn’t come back.”
“I hope we’ve been right ...” he said. “I hope we haven’t connived at a foolish thing.”
“No.... I’m sure we haven’t.”
Something in the brilliance of the sunlight, in the certainty of Sybil’s escape and happiness, in the freshness of the air touched after the storm by the first faint feel of autumn, filled her with a sense of giddiness, so that she forgot her own troubles; she forgot, even, that this was her fortieth birthday.
“Did they go in Sabine’s motor?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Grinning suddenly, he said, “She thought perhaps that she was doing us a bad turn.”