“Certain.”
“And you won’t let go?” Her eyes shone towards her friend’s in the twilight. “You will go on?”
“You must go on.”
“Ah—how?”
“Believing that he’ll be all right.”
“Oh, Aggy, he was devoted to Winny. And if the child dies—”
VI
The child died three days later. Milly came over to Agatha with the news.
She said it had been an awful shock, of course. She’d been dreading something like that for him. But he’d taken it wonderfully. If he came out of it all right, she would believe in what she called Agatha’s “thing.”
He did come out of it all right. His behaviour was the crowning proof, if Milly wanted more proof, of his sanity. He went up to London and made all the arrangements for his sister. When he returned he forestalled Milly’s specious consolations with the truth. It was better, he told her, that the dear little girl should have died, for there was distinct brain trouble anyway. He took it as a sane man takes a terrible alternative.