He did not answer at once; and she moved away to make place for Paul, whose face was set in very rigid lines.
"Take me to the duftur," Desmond commanded curtly. "I'll not be put to bed."
"No, no, man; we'll settle you up in your long chair," Mackay answered soothingly. He perceived that by some means Mrs Desmond had jarred his patient, and was in high ill-humour with her accordingly.
At the study door, Amar Singh almost laid his head at Desmond's feet. Within the room they found Frank Olliver arranging pillows and a rug on the deck-chair, and on a table beside it a light meal awaited him.
The meal ended, they all left him with one accord, instinctively making way for his wife—who was crying her heart out in the next room.
Paul was the last to leave. He remained standing by Desmond, resting a hand on his sound shoulder. But there are silences more illuminating than speech; and Theo Desmond knew all that was in his friend's heart at that moment—all that could never be spoken between them, because they were Englishmen, born into a heritage of incurable reserve.
"You're going to pull through this," Paul said quietly.
"Am I? Ask Mackay."
"No need for that—I'm sure of it; and—in the mean while——" A tightening of his grasp supplied the rest.