"Yes, go, by all means," said Sir Thomas. "A most invaluable, man, Kelvin--so clear-headed, and all that--never seems in a muddle, you know--never messes his fingers with the ink when he's writing."
Matthew Kelvin was indeed very ill--worse, perhaps, than Olive Deane had thought he would be. But, on the other hand, had he not been very ill, no valid necessity would have existed for Olive to accompany him home. He was grateful to her for offering to go with him. It was much nicer to have Olive by his side than one of the Stammars footmen. He had no strength to talk; but they had hardly got out of the park, and well on to the high road that led to Pembridge, when he took one of Olive's cool hands in both his, and let his head droop on to her shoulder.
"Are you in great pain, dear?" she whispered.
She had never called him dear before.
"It is rather hard to bear," said he, squeezing her hand tightly.
Presently he became aware that she was crying.
"Don't cry, Olive," he said.
But she could not help it. It made her cry to see him suffer so much; but none the more on that account did she waver for a single moment in her determination to carry out the scheme on which her mind was so firmly bent.