Jane came out of the drawing-room to meet us.  She was pale, and looked as if she hadn’t slept, but composed, as she always is.  I took her in my arms and gave her a long kiss.  Then her father kissed her, and smoothed her hair, and patted her head as he used to do when she was a child, and said, ‘There, there, there, my poor little Babs.  There, there, there.’

I led her into the drawing-room.  I felt her calm was unnatural.  ’Cry, my darling,’ I said.  ‘Have your cry out, and you will feel better.’

‘Shall I?’ she said.  ’I don’t think so, mother.  Crying doesn’t make me feel better, ever.  It makes my head ache.’

I thought of Tennyson’s young war widow and the nurse of ninety years, and only wished it could have been six months later, so that I could have set Jane’s child upon her knee.

‘When you feel you can, my darling,’ I said, wiping my eyes, ’you must tell me all about it.  But not before you want to.’

‘There isn’t much to tell,’ she answered quietly, still without tears.  ‘He fell down the stairs backwards.  That’s all.’

‘Did you ... see him, darling?’

She hesitated a moment, then said ’Yes.  I saw him.  I was in here.  He’d just come in from the office....  He lost his balance.’

‘Would you feel up, my dear,’ said her father, ’to giving me an account of it, that I could put in the papers?’

’You can put that in the papers, daddy.  That’s all there is to say about it, I’m afraid....  I’ve had seventeen reporters round this morning already, and I told Emily to tell them that.  That’s probably another,’ she added, as the bell rang.

But it was not.  Emily came up a moment later and asked if Jane could see Mr. Gideon.

It showed the over-wrought state of Jane’s nerves that she started a little.  She never starts or shows surprise.  Besides, what could be more natural than that Mr. Gideon, who, disagreeable man though he is, is a close friend of hers (far too close, I always thought, considering that Oliver was on almost openly bad terms with him) should call to inquire, on seeing the dreadful news?  It would, all the same, I thought, have been better taste on his part to have contented himself with leaving kind inquiries at the door.  However, of course, one would never expect him to do the right-minded or well-bred thing on any occasion.

‘I’ll go down,’ Jane said quietly.  ‘Will you wait there?’ she added to her father and me.  ‘You might,’ she called from the stairs, ’go and see Clare.  She’s in her room.’

I crossed the passage to the spare bedroom, and as I did so I caught a glimpse of that man’s tall, rather stooping figure in the hall, and heard Jane say, rather low, ‘Arthur!’ and add quickly, ’Mother and dad are upstairs.  Come in here.’

Then they disappeared into the dining-room, which was on the ground floor, and shut the door after them.

7