There was a tone of horror, more, of reprobation, in Mrs. Tropenell's low voice.
Oliver Tropenell was staring straight before him. "Surely one would have expected her to be glad that the suspense was over? And now I ask myself——" and indeed he looked as if he was speaking to himself and not to her—"if it would have been better for Laura if that—that fellow had been left to rot there till he had been discovered, two months, three months, perchance four months hence."
"My dear," she said painfully, "what do you mean exactly? I don't understand."
"Pavely's body was found in an empty office, and if the man who shot him hadn't written to Laura—well, of course the body would have remained there till it had occurred to some one to force open the door of the room, and that might not have happened for months."
"I'm very glad that Laura was told now," said Mrs. Tropenell firmly. "The suspense was telling on her far more than I should have expected it to do. Katty, too, became a very difficult element in the situation. I don't think there's much doubt that poor Katty was very fond of Godfrey."
He muttered: "Mean little loves, mean little lives, mean little souls—they were well matched!"
Then he got up.
"Well, mother, I must be off to bed now, as I have to get up early and go into Pewsbury. Laura, who's staying on in town, asked me to come down and tell those whom it concerned, the truth. She wants you to tell Alice. I said I thought you'd have the child here for a while."
"Certainly I will. She's been here all to-day, poor little girl."
"Do you really think she's to be pitied, mother?"