They chatted desultorily for a while, laughing and joking and taking a genuine pleasure in each other’s company, as people with a keen sense of humour will, even though tragedy be close upon their heels, but Cynthia never ceased to be aware that there was an object in their meeting and knew that he was only waiting for an opportunity to broach the subject that was really on his mind.
He did so at last, so casually that, if she had not been on the alert, she might have missed the significance of his question. He had brought the conversation round to Sybil Kean and her illness.
“If only she doesn’t have a relapse now,” he said thoughtfully. “If would be a bit of bad luck for us if Edward were to throw up the case.”
Cynthia turned to him with something like panic in her eyes.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” she exclaimed. “Of course if she were really ill he wouldn’t be able to go to Carlisle. He’d never leave her.”
“I’m afraid he wouldn’t. He’s utterly wrapped up in her. Sybil is a fascinating person, but I must admit that Edward’s devotion was a revelation to me. I did not know he had it in him to care so much for any one.”
“I don’t believe anybody else would ever have understood him as Sybil does,” said Cynthia slowly. “He’s not an easy person to know.”
Fayre gazed reflectively at the tips of his well-polished boots.
“You’ve seen a lot of Sybil in the last few years, haven’t you?” he asked suddenly.
Cynthia knew that the question for which she had been waiting had come at last, but she could not see its point.