"You knew him, of course, from a child?" she said to him, glancing at him with timid interrogation.
In reply he forced himself to play that part of Ferrier's intimate--almost son--which, indeed, she had given him, by implication, throughout her own talk. In this she had shown a tact, a kindness for which he owed her gratitude. She must have heard the charges brought against him by the Ferrier party during the election, yet, noble creature that she was, she had not believed them. He could have thanked her aloud, till he remembered that marked newspaper in his pocket.
Once a straggling rose branch caught in her dress. He stooped to free it. Then for the first time he saw her shrink. The instinctive service had made them man and woman again--not mind and mind; and he perceived, with a miserable throb, that she could not be so unconscious of his identity, his presence, their past, as she had seemed to be.
She had lost--he realized it--the bloom of first youth. How thin was the hand which gathered up her dress!--the hand once covered with his kisses. Yet she seemed to him lovelier than ever, and he divined her more woman than ever, more instinct with feeling, life, and passion.
Sir James's messenger met them half-way. At the door the ambulance waited.
Chide, bareheaded, and a group of doctors, gardeners, and police stood beside it.
"I follow you," said Marsham to Sir James. "There is a great deal to do."
Chide assented coldly. "I have written to Broadstone, and I have sent a preliminary statement to the papers."
"I can take anything you want to town," said Marsham, hastily. "I must go up this evening."