Westboro' took the little book from his friend's hand and shut it firmly as if afraid that the rest of the verse might slip out and refute him.
"Bulstrode, she consoles herself, she is perfectly happy."
"How are you then so sure?"
"Oh, I hear of her in Paris." The Duke's features contracted. "She's contriving to pass her time—to pass her time."
Bulstrode leaned over towards his friend and, for Westboro' sat opposite him, he put his hand on the Duke's knee.
"You must certainly go to her."
Westboro' stroked his moustache before he answered:
"Not if I never see her again."
"You should decidedly go to her."
The other shook his head. "Not if it meant twice the hell it is now."