She wished me to bring you her--her sympathy. She
was very much shocked." He spoke with a certain boyish embarrassment. But
his blue eyes looked very straight at Faversham.
Faversham changed colour a little, and thanked him. But his aspect was
that of a man worn out, incapable for the time of the normal responses of
feeling. He showed no sense of strangeness, with regard to Tatham's
visit, though for weeks they had not been on speaking terms. Absently
offering his visitor a chair, he talked a little--disjointedly--of
the events of the preceding evening, with frequent pauses for
recollection.
Tatham eyed him askance.
"I say! I suppose you had no sleep?"
Faversham smiled.
"Look here--hadn't you better come to us to-night?--get out of this
horrible place?" exclaimed Tatham, on a sudden but imperative impulse.
"To Duddon?" Faversham shook his head. "Thank you--impossible." Then he
looked up. "Undershaw told you what I told him?"
Tatham assented. There was an awkward pause--broken at last by Faversham.
"How did Miss Melrose get home?"
"Luckily I came across her at the foot of the Duddon hill, and I helped
her home. She's all right--though of course it's a ghastly shock for
them."
"I never knew she was here--till she had gone," exclaimed Faversham, with
sudden animation, "Otherwise--I should have helped her."
He stood erect, his pale look fixed threateningly on Tatham.
"I'm sure you would," said Tatham, heartily.
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