“It's very cold.”
“I shall not care.”
She put up her lips to kiss him, then pressed her cheek to his. “I'm so sorry, Philip!” she whispered. It was the only expression of pity she had ventured.
“Don't, mother. I can't endure it. Not now—not yet.”
With a hasty good-by he hurried off.
Ten minutes later and he stood with Perkins before the door leading into the room where Margaret lay.
“Where is Franz?” Philip asked.
Perkins nodded toward the door. “We can't induce him to leave her,” he said.
“Why should you seek to? Poor fellow!”
They were silent, gazing at each other, a depth of sorrow in their glance. Finally Perkins said, with a show of control: