Miss Allen’s eyes were red and her voice was unsteady as she answered.
“As well as she is likely to be for some time,” she said rather tartly. She was suffering from the aftermath of an unaccustomed emotion. “She’s not going to die, if that’s what you mean, but her last hope has just been taken from her. I must go back to her in a minute. If the child had a decent mother I’d send for her.”
She crossed to the table and took a cigarette.
For a minute or two she smoked in silence. Then she turned to Fayre with a very pleasant smile on her homely face.
“I was a bear just now,” she said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve had a bad quarter of an hour. Mr. Fayre, what are we going to do now?”
Fayre looked at her with utter misery in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” he said desperately. “I must see Grey. After that . . . I don’t know.”
He buried his face in his hands.
“It’s out of our hands,” said Miss Allen softly. “How pitifully small we human beings feel when the big things happen. That child upstairs, with no experience of life to guide her, is dealing with something infinitely larger than anything I have ever known and I cannot help her. She must find her own way out, Mr. Fayre. On my word, I believe I would rather be John Leslie!”
“And I,” answered Fayre, rising to his feet. “This is not the first time he has faced death gallantly and, as I grow older, I begin to wonder if it is as terrible a thing as we think. But to live on, with all the light taken from your life! I wish I knew what to do,” he finished abruptly.