Caroline is prepared to indulge in the softer emotions of pity and

comprehension.

 

I told her firmly that her whole idea was nonsense. I was all the more firm

because I secretly agreed with some part, at least, of what she had said. But it

is all wrong that Caroline should arrive at the truth simply by a kind of

inspired guesswork. I wasn’t going to encourage that sort of thing. She will go

round the village airing her views, and every one will think that she is doing

so on medical data supplied by me. Life is very trying.

 

“Nonsense,” said Caroline, in reply to my strictures. “You’ll see. Ten to one

she’s left a letter confessing everything.”

 

“She didn’t leave a letter of any kind,” I said sharply, and not seeing where

the admission was going to land me.

 

“Oh!” said Caroline. “So you _did_ inquire about that, did you? I believe,

James, that in your heart of hearts, you think very much as I do. You’re a

precious old humbug.”

 

“One always has to take the possibility of suicide into consideration,” I said

repressively.

 

“Will there be an inquest?”