"But," she asked him, "what of Lady Norwater? Patrine tells me she is ill."
"She is ill. Lord Norwater—at first reported missing after an action north of Ypres on the —th is now said to have been killed."
Lynette was silent. Her husband knew why her head was bent and her white fingers sought a little Crucifix she wore. She was praying for the dead man. Presently she said:
"He was very brave, I believe?'
"He had been recommended for the Victoria Cross for a special service of great gallantry—rendered during the Battle of the Aisne. He was a brave and simple young man, and very lovable. His wife received the official intelligence of his death yesterday. They 'phoned Patrine, as you know, and sent for me later. Lady Norwater is expecting her confinement at the end of November—and they were alarmed for her."
"Poor little soul! Her baby will be a comfort to her!"
Saxham remembered under what circumstances he had made the acquaintance of Lady Norwater, and his look was rather grim. In his mind's ear he heard again the sweet little voice saying in its fashionable slang jargon:
"Oh no! I rather cotton to kiddies. It's the bother of having 'em doesn't appeal. It puts everything in the cart for the Autumn Season."
Still, the recent remembrance of her piteousness softened the Doctor's never very adamantine heart towards her, the humming-bird broken on the wheel of implacable Fate. Not unnatural, after all. More of a woman than one would have thought her. How she had clasped her tiny hands together and entreated him, when the worst was feared for her, to save, to save her child.
"Franky's child. Perhaps—the boy he hoped for. Oh! to have to say hoped, hurts so dreadfully. Yes, yes! I will be brave and good and quiet.... I will do everything that you say. Ah, now I know why all these days I have felt Franky near me, and seen his eyes looking at me out of every stranger's face."