It was as if he were thinking that when Sutton died he might not be there. And he had said that Sutton wouldn't last long. Anne looked at Jerrold. But Jerrold's face was happy. He didn't see it.
They left Uncle Robert in the library, drinking hot water for tea.
"Jerrold," Anne said, "I'm sure Uncle Robert's ill."
"Oh no. It's only indigestion. He'll be as right as rain in a day or two."
V
Anne's cat Nicky was dying.
Jerrold struggled with his sleep, pushing it back and back before him, trying to remember.
There was something; something that had hung over him the night before.
He had been afraid to wake and find it there. Something—.
Now he remembered.
Nicky was dying and Anne was unhappy. That was what it was; that was what he had hated to wake to, Anne's unhappiness and the little cat.