“Yes, of course you will. It would have been better under the circumstances for the Dean to have told you what they want to see you about.”
In the old days, Major Guthrie had never shared Mrs. Otway’s admiration for Dr. Haworth, and now he felt rather sharply disturbed. The Home Office? The words bore a more ominous sound to him than they did, fortunately, to her. Was it possible that she had been communicating, in secret, with some of her German friends? He rose from the bench on which they had been sitting: “Is the gentleman in the motor, Howse?”
“Yes, sir. He wouldn’t come in.”
“Go and tell him that we are coming at once.”
And then, after a moment, he said quietly, “I’m coming, too.”
“Oh, but——” she exclaimed.
“I don’t choose to have my wife’s presence commanded by the Dean of Witanbury, or even, if it comes to that, by the Home Office.”
She seized his arm, and pressed close to him. “I do believe,” she cried, “that you suspect me of having got into a scrape! Indeed, indeed I have done nothing!” She was smiling, though moved almost to tears by the way he had just spoken. It was a new thing to her to be taken care of, to feel that there was someone ready, aye, determined, to protect her, and take her part. Also, it was the first time he had called her his wife.
A few minutes later they were sitting side by side in a large, open motor-car. Mr. Reynolds was a pleasant, good-looking man of about thirty, and he had insisted on giving up his seat to Major Guthrie. There would have been plenty of room for the three of them leaning back, but he had preferred to sit opposite to them, and now he was looking, with a good deal of sympathy, interest, and respect at the blind soldier, and with equal interest, but with less liking and respect, at Major Guthrie’s wife.
Mr. Reynolds disliked pro-Germans and spy-maniacs with almost equal fervour; his work brought him in contact with both. From what he had been able to learn, the lady sitting opposite to him was to be numbered among the first category.