The poor woman was incapable of speech.  Mr. Bentley picked up his hat and stick.

“I’ve taken the liberty of bringing Dicky a little ice and a few lemons.”  His eyes rested again on the couch by the window.  Then he turned to Garvin, who stood mutely, staring.  “Good evening, sir,” he said.  “We must look for the best.”

II

They went down the stairs of the shabby and battered house, stairs by the side of which holes had been knocked through the faded wall-paper—­scars of frequent movings.  The sound and smell of frying came out of the open door of what once had been the parlour, and on the front steps a little girl darted past them with a pitcher of beer.  When they reached the sidewalk Mr. Bentley halted.

“If you were intending to telephone Dr. Jarvis, Mr. Hodder, there is a public station in the drug store just above here.  I know that clergymen are busy persons, and I am passing it, if you are pressed for time.”

“My only concern is to get Jarvis here,” said the rector.  “If I may go with you—­”

Once again in the hot sunlight, reaction had set in.  Hodder was suddenly unstrung, and the kindly old gentleman beside him seemed for the instant the only fixture in a chaotic universe.  It was not until later reflection that he realized Mr. Bentley might, by an intuitive sympathy, a depth of understanding, have drained something of his state, since the incidents which followed were to be accounted for on no other grounds.  In such elemental moments the frail conventions are swept away:  Mr. Bentley, whoever he might be, was no longer a stranger; and it seemed wholly natural to be walking with him up the street, to hear him saying, —­not with perfunctory politeness but in a tone that was itself an invitation,—­“With pleasure, sir, we’ll go together.  And let us trust that the doctor will be at home.”

Nor did Hodder stop to wonder, then, why Mr. Bentley should have sought in his conversation to dissipate something of the hideous blackness of a tragedy which must have moved him profoundly.  How fortunate, he declared, that they should have arrived before it was too late!  For it was plain to be seen that these Garvins were good people who had been broken by adversity . . . .  The boy had struck him particularly—­a lovable, merry little fellow whose clothes, Mr. Bentley observed, were always neatly mended, betokening a mother with self-respect and character.  He even spoke of Garvin:  adversity, worry, the heat, constant brooding over a happier past and an uncertain future—­was it surprising that the poor man’s mind had become unhinged?  They must make some plan for Garvin, said Mr. Bentley, get the man and his wife into the country for a while amongst kindly people.  This might no doubt be arranged....

“Here we are, sir.”