"Think," said the Dean, "of the effect of that man's sudden appearance—of his romantic and powerful personality—your wife alone, miserable—doubting your love for her—"
Ashe raised his hand with a gesture of passion.
"If she had had the smallest love left for me she could have protected herself! I had written to her—she knew—"
His voice broke. The Dean's face quivered.
"My dear fellow—God knows—" He broke off. When he recovered composure he said:
"Let us go back to Lady Kitty. Regret is no word to express what I saw. She is consumed by remorse night and day. She is also still—as far as my eyes can judge—desperately ill. There is probably lung trouble caused by the privations of the winter. And the whole nervous system is shattered."
Ashe looked up. His aspect showed the effect of the words.
"Every provision shall be made for her," he said, in a voice muffled and difficult. "Lady Alice has been told already to spare no expense—to do everything that can be done."
"There is only one thing that can be done for her," said the Dean.
Ashe did not speak.