Sheila. 'You might, at least, have confided in me; that is,
unless-- But there, don't you think really, Arthur, it would be
much more satisfactory in every way if we had further advice at
once? Alice will be home next week. To-morrow is the Harvest
Festival, and next week, of course, the Dedication; and, in any
case, the Bazaar is out of the question. They will have to find
another stall-holder. We must do our utmost to avoid comment or
scandal. Every minute must help to--to fix a thing like that. I
own even now I cannot realise what this awful calamity means.
It's useless to brood on it. We must, as the poor dear old vicar
said only last night, keep our heads clear. But I am sure Dr
Simon was under a misapprehension. If, now, it was explained to
him, a little more fully, Arthur--a photograph. Oh, anything on
earth but this dreadful wearing uncertainty and suspense! Besides
...is Simon quite an English name?'

Lawford drew further into his pillow. 'Do as you think best,
Sheila,' he said. 'For my own part, I believe it may be as he
suggests--partly an illusion, a touch of nervous breakdown. It
simply can't be as bad as I think it is. If it were, you would
not be here talking like this; and Bethany wouldn't have believed
a word I said. Whatever it is, it's no good crying it on the
housetops. Give me time, just time. Besides, how do we know what
he really thought? Doctors don't tell their patients everything.
Give the poor chap a chance, and more so if he is a foreigner.
He's'--his voice sank almost to a whisper--'he's no darker than
this. And do, please, Sheila, take this infernal stuff away, and
let me have something solid. I'm not ill--in that way. All I want
is peace and quiet, time to think. Let me fight it out alone.
It's been sprung on me. The worst's not over. But I'll win