Mr. Pym was speaking strangely, in a cold, hard sort of manner; and, instead of looking at Mrs. Darling, his eyes were directed straight over her head.
"Then it was an accident," said Mrs. Darling, after a pause.
"That will no doubt be the verdict of the jury."
The two stood in silence. Mr. Pym with his far-away gaze, Mrs. Darling stealing surreptitious glances at him through her veil. Presently she spoke, scarcely above a whisper.
"What tale is it that people have got hold of, about the child being locked in the room?"
"Ah," said Mr. Pym, "that's Honour's tale. She says that when she left the boy, to go downstairs, the nursery doors were unbolted; that when she returned, both were fastened. Her theory is, implied if not avowed, that the doors had been deliberately closed upon the burning child."
Mrs. Darling turned her face away. She was as little given as any one to betraying signs of emotion, but the eyes, for all they were not looking at her, saw that the face was turning livid.
"It can't be true," she whispered.
"As I tell Honour. Are you going to the Hall? Most of its inmates are here, at the inquest."
"Charlotte is not here!" exclaimed Mrs. Darling, turning to him in what looked like alarm.