Part 45 (1/2)
He was silent a moment. Then he swung round, full to her. His face burned, his eyes flashed tears; he held his head up to stop them falling.
”Barbara--if he dies, I'll kill myself.”
That evening Mr. Waddington's temperature went up another point. Ralph, calling about nine o'clock, found Barbara alone in the library, huddled in a corner of the sofa, with her pocket-handkerchief beside her, rolled in a tight, damp ball. She started as he came in.
”Oh,” she said, ”I thought you were the doctor.”
”Do you want him?”
”Yes. f.a.n.n.y does. She's frightened.”
”Shall I go and get him?”
”No. No. They've sent Kimber. Oh, Ralph, I'm frightened, too.”
”But he's getting on all right. He is really. Ransome says so.”
”I know. I've told them that. But they won't believe it. And _I_ don't now. He'll die: you'll see he'll die. Just because we've been such pigs to him.”
”Nonsense; that wouldn't make him--”
”I'm not so sure. It's awful to see him lying there, like a lamb--so good--when you think how we've hunted and hounded him.”
”He didn't know, Barbara. We never let him know.”
”You don't know what he knew. He must have seen it.”
”He never sees anything.”
”I tell you, you don't know what he sees.... I'd give anything, anything not to have done it.”
”So would I.”
”It's a lesson to me,” she said, ”as long as I live, never to laugh at anybody again. Never to say cruel things.”
”We didn't say cruel things.”
”Unkind things.”
”Not very unkind.”
”We did. I did. I said all the really beastly ones.”
”No. No, you didn't. Not half as beastly as I and Horry did.”
”That's what Horry's thinking now. He's nearly off his head about it.”
”Look here, Barbara; you're simply sentimentalizing because he's ill and you're sorry for him.... You needn't be. I tell you, he's enjoying his illness. ... I don't suppose,” said Ralph thoughtfully, ”he's enjoyed anything so much since the war.”