She lifted her wet hand and drew it along the stone brim of the fountain. “I suppose,” she said, “that His Majesty must dismiss you from office—I suppose. That is the least he can do—am I right?”
“Yes.”
“I suppose—he might touch your estate—your life—am I right?”
“Yes.”
“The first, the least he could do would be generous—you think he will not choose it?—again—am I right?”
“Yes.”
A spot of bright color burnt in either cheek as she looked up at him; in the shade of her hat her eyes shone brightly.
“He will do the utmost?”
Lord Stair smiled.
“Be content, madam,” he said bitterly. “I think he will do the utmost.”