The doctor looked at him—a terrible look.
“Brandy!” he repeated deeply. “Man, have you no eyes? What have you been about to allow her to come to this pass? She is not faint. She is drunk!”
Flora’s remorse was a pitiful thing. For years she had been playing with fire, but the knowledge of the depths to which she had fallen filled her with shame and fear. For days together she refused to see her husband, but from the first moment of consciousness she clung with a childish desperation to the friend of her youth.
“Don’t leave me! Don’t go away! I can’t face it alone. Oh, Meriel, stay and help me to bear it. I’m afraid to be left alone with Geoffrey. He will say nothing—he’ll go on being kind, but it will be in his mind.—I shall see it in his eyes... I’ve disgraced him, and I’m afraid—I’m afraid of the future! ... Oh, Meriel, stay and help me!”
That night, walking in the darkening garden, Meriel told Sterne of his wife’s desire, and added a few simple words.
“If you wish it, too, I will stay,” she said. “I have no home ties, and can extend my visit as long as it suits you. But I must have your approval. If you would prefer a regular attendant—”
His face twitched with emotion.
“I should—abhor it!” he said tensely. “If you could stay, it would be a godsend, but it seems too great a sacrifice... We have no right to ask it. Why should you give up so much?”
“I have so little to give up,” Meriel said. She looked into Sterne’s face with a pathetic attempt at a smile. “I am a superfluous woman. Nobody needs me, and all my life I have longed to be needed. If I can be of use here, I’d rather stay than go anywhere on earth.”
“God bless you!” he said, and gripped her hand.