‘No, no, dear. You were always kind, and she loved you dearly. She liked to think that you were happy among pleasant people. She never had a selfish thought.’
‘I know it, Viola. And she was happy with her husband. You are quite sure of that?’
‘I never saw two people so utterly united, so happy in each other’s devotion.’
‘And yet Churchill takes his loss very quietly.’
‘His grief is all the deeper for being undemonstrative.’
‘Well, I suppose so,’ sighed Sir Nugent. ‘But I should have expected to see him more cut up. Oh, by the way, I came to you to ask about him. Have you any idea where he has gone? He may have told you?’
‘Where he has gone, papa? Isn’t he at home?’
‘No. I waited dinner for an hour and a half, and went in alone (learning that you were too ill to come down) and ate a cutlet. It was not very polite of him to walk off without leaving any information as to his intentions.’
‘I can’t understand it, papa. He may have gone to town on business, perhaps. He went away suddenly just before—before my dearest was taken ill—went one day and came back the next.’
‘Humph,’ muttered Sir Nugent. ‘Rather unmannerly.’