“Only one thing,” said John, in a low voice, “if I have judged your character rightly in so short a time.”

“What is that?”

“Duty.”

She looked at him with sweet, puzzled eyes, like a child.

“Are you pleading Sir Timothy’s cause, Cousin John?” she said, with a little touch of offence in her tone that was only charming.

“I am pleading Sir Timothy’s cause,” said John, seriously.

“Love is stronger than duty, isn’t it?” said Lady Mary.

“I hope not,” said John, very simply.

“You mean my husband doesn’t wish me to go?”

“Don’t think me too presuming,” he said pleadingly.

“I couldn’t,” said Lady Mary, naively.  “You are older than I am, you know,” she laughed, “and a Q.C.  And you know you would be my trustee and my boy’s guardian if anything ever happened to Sir Timothy.  He told me so long ago.  And he reminded me of it to-day most solemnly.  I suppose he was afraid I shouldn’t treat you with proper respect.”

“He has honoured me very highly,” said John.  “In that case, it would be almost my—­my duty to advise you in any difficulty that might arise, wouldn’t it?”

“That means you want to advise me now?”

“Frankly, it does.”

“And are you going to tell me that I ought to stay at home, and let my only boy leave England without bidding him God-speed?” said Lady Mary incredulously.  “If so, I warn you that you will never convince me of that, argue as you may.”

“No one is ever convinced by argument,” said John.  “But stern facts sometimes command even a woman’s attention.”

“When backed by such powers of persuasion as yours, perhaps.”

She faced him with sparkling eyes.  Lady Mary was timid and gentle by nature, but Peter’s mother knew no fear.  Yet she realized that if John Crewys were moved to put forth his full powers, he might be a difficult man to oppose.  She met his glance, and observed that he perfectly understood the spirit which animated her, and that it was not opposition that shone from his bright hazel eyes, as he regarded her steadily through his pince-nez.

“I am going to deal with a hard fact, which your husband is afraid to tell you,” said John, “because, in his tenderness for your womanly weakness, he underrates, as I venture to think, your womanly courage.  Sir Timothy wants you to be with him here to-morrow because he has to—­to fight an unequal battle—­”

“With the Crown?”

“With Death.”

“What do you mean?” said Lady Mary.

“He has been silently combating a mortal disease for many months past,” said John, “and to-morrow morning the issue is to be decided.  Every day, every hour of delay, increases the danger.  The great surgeon, Dr. Herslett, will be here at eleven o’clock, and on the success of the operation he will perform, hangs the thread of your husband’s life.”

Lady Mary put up a little trembling hand entreatingly, and John’s great heart throbbed with pity.  He had chosen his words deliberately to startle her from her absorption in her son; but she looked so fragile, so white, so imploring, that his courage almost failed him.  He came to her side, and took the little hand reassuringly in his strong, warm clasp.