"I thank Him that you still think so, after thirteen years of marriage!"
"I shall always think so, Owen. And it is a great thing that Patrine has chosen so well. He is true and brave, and loves my dear sincerely. And her love is beautiful and disinterested. There is no taint of baseness in her——"
"She has nothing of Mildred or of David, then," flashed through the Doctor's mind. Lynette went on:
"No one will ever be able to charge her with venality or mercenariness. The succession that they will talk of in the newspapers was not dreamed of when she and Alan fell in love."
"The succession! Ah, of course!" the Doctor said; "There is a possible succession to a Viscounty now that Lord Norwater's death is proved fact, but only in case Lady Norwater bears no male child. But a title would not spoil Sherbrand, and I agree with you that it has never influenced Patrine."
"How tired you look!" Lynette said, noting the look of heavy care and the deep lines of weariness traced on the stern visage.
"I have several critical private cases, and a long list of operations for this morning at SS. Stanislaus and Theresa's. Now go and dress, my sweet, for I have work to do."
And Lynette went with a happier look than she had worn since the crushing blow fell. And Saxham shot the bolt of his consulting-room door and went back to his chair at the big writing-table, and leaned his head upon his hands.
An Atlas burden of care cracked the sinews of the Doctor's huge shoulders. It had not occurred to Saxham when Patrine had gulped out her pitiful story, and he had heartened her by bidding her forget, that forgetfulness would speedily be accomplished at the cost of an honest man.
Now, what to do? Must Sherbrand take the stranger's leavings or David's girl be twice the loser by the stranger's lustful theft? It was a problem to thrash the brain to jelly of grey matter, thought the Dop Doctor, drilling his fingertips into his aching temples—were there no cause for anxiety elsewhere.