"
Then he said "Listen," and he read the letter straight through. He repeated
some of the phrases--"What you did on April 12." "That shows that you don't
care.... You are cruel and hard, Peter.... I am going to Jerry in
Paris...."
"Jerry--that's Cardillac, you know, Bobby. He's in Paris and she's going
over to him because she can't stand me any more. She says I don't care
about her. Isn't that funny, when I love her so much?"
Bobby went to him, put his arm round his neck--
"Peter--dear--Peter--wait," and then "Oh my God! we must stop her--"
He drew himself away from Bobby's arm and, very unsteadily, went across the
room and then stood against the farther wall, his head bent, motionless.
"Stop her? Oh! no, Bobby. Stop her when she wants to go! I--" His voice
wasn't Peter's voice, it was a thin monotonous voice like some one speaking
at a great distance.
Then it seemed that intelligence was flashed upon him. He lurched forward
and with a great voice--as though he had been struck by some sudden
agonising, immortal pain--
"Bobby--Bobby--My wife--Clare--"
And at that instant Mrs. Rossiter was shown into the room.
III
The maid who opened the door had apparently some suspicion that "things
were odd," because she waited for a moment before she closed the door
again, staring with wide eyes into the room, catching, perhaps, some hint
from her master's white face that something terrible had occurred.
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