Drawing a deep breath, Dr. Fell propelled himself to his feet and stood towering.
"I have said that is all," he added. "Yet an emotional question remains. What happens to Madge, round whom every storm has blown?
"Last Monday, after Crandall had committed suicide, we heard from Maynard's lawyer the terms of his will. How far can a man like that go to keep what he has once owned? He planned inflexibly: except for a pittance which may or may not support her, Madge has been disinherited. His fortune goes to charity; the Hall will become a museum. That, no doubt, was what caused Mr. Hillboro to leave us in a hurry. If she were Maynard's real daughter, she could contest such a will with ease. Under the circumstances, of course, she can contest nothing. She has become an outcast, scorned of good people. And ye
t she has suffered too.—Mr. Beal
e, where are you going?"
Yancey swung round. "Up to see Madge, as I promised I would. Who's talkin' about outcasts, Grand Goblin?"
"Have I made myself clear, sir? In the eyes of the world
..."
"Damn the world!" said Yancey. "And its eyes and its views and everything else. Madge won't contest any will; she'll not need to, even if she won't have me. She
won't
have me, I expect; I'm no prize in the lottery, and
I'm
not pressin' her against her will. Still, if she does happen to need me, I'm here."
And he sauntered up the path into the house by one of the doors to the lounge. For some seconds Dr. Fell blinked at the ground; then, muttering about a conference with Captain Ashcroft, he followed. Alan and Camilla were left alone in a luxuriant garden under the sombre sky.
"I'm glad Yancey did that!" breathed Camilla. "I've never belonged among the good people, of course; but I'm
so
glad he did. Madge will get over this; you see if she doesn't; and she has a very fair chance of being happy too."
"What about you, Camilla? Are
you
reasonably happy?"
"I'm so wonderfully happy, Alan, I'm almost annoyed with myself for feeling it! Now that we understand each other and don't quarrel any longer . . ."
"We don't quarrel, do we? And tomorrow you go back with me to Pearis. Then, when we're married . . ."
"You don't have to do that, you know. You don't
have
to make an honest woman of me!"
"That's where you're wrong. You have certain skills, my magnificent anti-Puritan, to which few female mathematicians can aspire. So I don't mean to let you get away from me. If only I understood about the sergeant's wife . . . !"
"Sergeant's wife?"
"Yes. 'Somebody asked the Sergeant's wife' something, and in some way it's supposed to apply to us. But for the life of me—!"
"You didn't spot it? And you a teacher of English too? Oh, Alan! It's the last verse of Kipling's 'The Ladies.'
I
know it well; I
can quote it!"
"You can quote Kipling? You condescend to quote Kipling? With your tastes, I should have thought . . ."
"Please, darling, let's not start that all over again! If Dr. Fell meant it as a dig at me for being so uppish about everything
...
I was uppish, I know, though I never meant to be . . . well, I accept the correction and glad to."
'
What did the Colonel's lady think?
Nobody ever knew;
Somebody asked the Sergeant's wife,
And she told 'em true.
When you get down to a man in the case
They're as like as a row of pins,
For the Colonel's lady and Judy O'Grady
Are sisters under the skins."