A glance at his face showed Paul that he knew, and believed the worst; and for a moment they confronted one another in mute dismay. The Englishman's inability to put his heart into words has its pathetic aspect at times. These two men were linked by years of mutual work, and immediate mutual pain: yet Wyndham merely laid down his pipe and asked; "Have you seen Mackay?"
"Yes. Met him on my way here. I'm going in to her at once."
And Paul, picking up the discarded pipe, looked after him with envy and hunger in his eyes.
Meredith knocked at the bedroom door.
"Who's there?" Desmond's voice came sharp as a challenge.
"John."
"Come in, then."
And he went in.
The room was large, lofty, and very simply furnished. With the leisurely swaying of the punkah, light and shadow flitted across the wide, low bed, on one side of which Honor lay, warmly covered with blankets, her breath coming in laboured gasps. Desmond knelt by her; and, on Meredith's entrance, set down the feeding-cup, but because her hand was on his coat-sleeve, he did not change his position, or rise from his knees. She held out the other to Meredith, But it fell limply before he could reach her.
"John . . dear," she greeted him in a husky whisper. "I'm so glad.
Sit near me . . here."