“It isn’t that, Markham. It is—mamma.”
And then Lady Markham, too much excited to wait, came out to join them. “Do you know the state of affairs, Markham? Does she know? I want you to go off instantly, without losing a moment, to Southampton, to fetch Dr Howard. Quick! There is just time to get the boat.”
“Dr Howard? What is wrong with the man here?”
“He is afraid of the responsibility—at least I am, Markham. Think—in your house! Oh yes, my dear, go without delay.”
Markham paused, and looked at her with his keen little eyes. “Mother, why don’t you say at once you want to get me out of the way?”
“I do. I don’t deny it, Markham. But this too. We ought to have another opinion. Do, for any favour, what I ask you, dear; oh, do it! Oh yes, I would rather you sent him here, and did not come back with him. But come back, if you must; only, go, go now.”
“You think he will be—dead before I could get back? I will telegraph for Dr Howard, mother; but I will not go away.”
“You can do no good, Markham—except to make people talk. Oh, for mercy’s sake, whatever you may do afterwards, go now.”
“I will go and telegraph—with pleasure,” he said.
Lady Markham turned and took Frances’ arm, as he left them. “I think I must give in now altogether,” she cried. “All is going wrong with me. First Con, and then my boy. For now I see what will happen. And you don’t know, you can’t think what Markham has been to me. Oh, he has been everything to me! And now—I know what will happen now.”