“I did not look upon it in that light,” said Sir Timothy, rather stiffly.  “The propriety or the impropriety of her going remains in any, case the same, whether the operation succeeds or fails.  I feared that it would be the wrong thing to allow her to go at all; that it might cause comment were she absent from my side at such a critical juncture.”

“I see,” said John.  His mobile, expressive face and bright hazel eyes seemed to light up for one instant with scorn and wonder; then he recollected himself.  “It is natural you should wish for her sustaining presence, no doubt,” he said.

“I trust you do not suppose that I should be selfishly considering my own personal feelings at such a time,” said Sir Timothy, in a lofty tone of reproof.  “I am only desirous of doing what is right in the matter.  I am asking your advice because I feel that my self-command has been shaken considerably by this unexpected blow.  I am less sure of my judgment than usual in consequence.  However, if you think my wife ought to be told”—­John nodded very decidedly—­“let her be told.  I am bound to say Dr. Blundell thought so too, though his opinion is neither here nor there in such a matter, but so long as you understand that my only desire is that both she and I should do what is most correct and proper.”  He came closer to John.  “It is of vital importance for me to preserve my composure,” said Sir Timothy.  “I am not fitted for—­for any kind of scene just now.  Will you undertake for me the task of explaining to—­to my dear wife the situation in which I am placed?”

“I will do my best,” said John.  He was touched by the note of piteous anxiety which had crept into the squire’s harsh voice.

“Thank you,” said Sir Timothy.  “Will you await her here?  She is returning immediately.  Break it to her as gently as you can.  I shall rest and compose myself by a talk with Dr. Blundell.”

He went slowly to the study, leaving John Crewys alone.

CHAPTER VI

“Is that you, Cousin John?” said Lady Mary.  “Is Sir Timothy gone?  I have not been away more than a few minutes, have I?”

She spoke quite brightly.  Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes were sparkling with excitement.

John looked at her, and found himself wishing that her soft, brown hair were not strained so tightly from her forehead, nor brushed so closely to her head; the fashion would have been trying to a younger face, and fatal to features less regularly delicate and correct.  He also wished she were not dressed like a Quaker’s wife.  The stiff, grey poplin fitted like a glove the pretty curves of Lady Mary’s slender figure, but it lacked distinction, and appropriateness, to John’s fastidious eye.  Then he reproached himself vehemently for allowing his thoughts to dwell on such trifles at such a moment.

“Will you forgive me for going away the very day you come?” said Lady Mary.