But oh, if it could, by some miracle, be Patrick, she would be free of that haunting horror, that thought of the boy who regretted too late to come back.
Her mind was still swooping and swirling as she climbed the stairs to the offices of Cosset, Thring and Noble.
"Ah, Miss Ashby," Mr. Sandal said. "This is a shocking dilemma. A most unprecedented — Do sit down. You must be exhausted. A dreadful ordeal for you. Sit down, sit down. Mercer, some tea for Miss Ashby."
"Did he say why he didn't write, all those years?" she asked; this being the all-important thing in her mind.
"He said something about 'perhaps preferring to be dead'."
"Oh."
"A psychological difficulty, no doubt," Mr. Sandal said, proffering comfort.
"Then you believe it is Patrick?"
"I mean, if it is Patrick, his 'preferring to be dead' would no doubt arise from the same psychological difficulty as did his running away."
"Yes. I see. I suppose so. Only-it is so unlike Patrick. Not to write, I mean."