“God! What should I do if I hadn’t you?” he muttered.
She clung to him, and for a moment they forgot their great trouble.
“Oh, Jean, my darling, darling love—it’s been hell this last fortnight!” he whispered. “D’you know that we’ve never been alone since we came back from London?”
“They’ve been very cruel—though they meant to be kind,” she said in a choking voice.
“Did you feel them cruel?” he whispered.
As only answer she pressed more closely to him, and again in that disordered, desecrated room, it was as if Heaven wrapped them round.
It was Jean who heard the sound of footsteps echoing across the hall; and they had only just time to start apart when a loud voice called out: “Is any one in this house? We are looking for Mr. Henry Garlett——” And two men in uniform burst through the half-open door.
They looked taken aback when they saw that the man they sought was not alone, and the elder of the two came up close to where Harry Garlett was standing by Jean Bower’s side.
He asked civilly, “Can I speak to you in private——?” he hesitated, and then added the word, “sir.”
Harry Garlett exchanged a quick look with the man, and then he turned to Jean. “Will you go outside, into the garden? I’ll join you in a few minutes.”