“Not gone yet?” said Wickham.
“I have been listening to the tale of a woman’s courage,” I said, and when Eileen gave me her hand, I raised it to my lips, in the French style, though not in gallantry.
“Reverend Mother,” she said, “has been exalting me to the seventh heaven of her dear heart.”
On my way back to Brand’s mess I told him all I had heard about Eileen’s trial, and I remember his enthusiasm.
“Fine! Thank heaven there are women like that in this blood-soaked world. It saves one from absolute despair.”
He made no comment about the suppression of evidence, which was a puzzle to me.
We parted with a “So long, old man,” outside his headquarters, and I did not see him until a few days later.