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The blow was so sudden that Hammond thought he would faint. He couldn’t move; he couldn’t breathe. He felt all his strength flowing—flowing into the big dark chair, and the big dark chair held him fast, gripped him, forced him to bear it.

“What?” he said dully.”What’s that you say?”

“The end was quite peaceful,” said the small voice.”He just”—and Hammond saw her lift her gentle hand—”breathed his life away at the end.” And her hand fell.

“Who—else was there?” Hammond managed to ask.

“Nobody. I was alone with him.”

Ah, my God, what was she saying? What was she doing to him! This would kill him! And all the while she spoke:

“I saw the change coming and I sent the steward for the doctor, but the doctor was too late. He couldn’t have done anything, anyway.”

“But—why you, why you?” moaned Hammond.

At that Janey turned quickly, quickly searched his face.

“You don’t mind, John, do you?” she asked.”You don’t … It’s nothing to do with you and me.”

Somehow or other he managed to shake some sort of smile at her. Somehow or other he stammered: “No—go—on, go on! I want you to tell me.”

“But, John darling …’

“Tell me, Janey!”

“There’s nothing to tell,” she said, wondering.”He was one of the first-class passengers. I saw he was very ill when he came on board … But he seemed to be so much better until yesterday. He had a severe attack in the afternoon—excitement—nervousness, I think, about arriving. And after that he never recovered.”

“But why didn’t the stewardess …”

“Oh, my dear—the stewardess!” said Janey.”What would he have felt? And besides … he might have wanted to leave a message … to …”

“Didn’t he?” muttered Hammond.”Didn’t he say anything?”

“No, darling, not
a word!” She shook her head softly.”All the time I was with him he was too weak … he was too weak even to move a finger….”

Janey was silent. But her words, so light, so soft, so chill, seemed to hover in the air, to rain into his breast like snow.

The fire had gone red. Now it fell in with a sharp sound and the room was colder. Cold crept up his arms. The room was huge, immense, glittering. It filled his whole world. There was the great blind bed, with his coat flung across it like some headless man saying his prayers. There was the luggage, ready to be carried away again, anywhere, tossed into trains, carted on to boats.

“… He was too weak. He was too weak to move a finger.” And yet he died in Janey’s arms. She—who’d never—never once in all these years—never on one single solitary occasion …

No; he mustn’t think of it. Madness lay in thinking of it. No, he wouldn’t face it. He couldn’t stand it. It was too much to bear!

And now Janey touched his tie with her fingers. She pinched the edges of the tie together.

“You’re not—sorry I told you, John darling? It hasn’t made you sad? It hasn’t spoilt our evening—our being alone together?”

But at that he had to hide his face. He put his face into her bosom and his arms enfolded her.

Spoilt their evening! Spoilt their being alone together! They would never be alone together again.