He nodded once or twice.
“So do most sensible people …
Well, Miss Deronnais, I have come to warn you. I did not write, because it was impossible to know what to say until I had seen you and heard your answer to that question. At the same time, I wanted to lose no time. Anything may happen now at any moment. … I wanted to tell you this: that I am at your service now altogether.
When—” he stopped; then he began again, “If you hear no further news for the present, may I ask when you expect to see Mr. Baxter again?”
“In Easter week.”
“That is a fortnight off. … Do you think you could persuade him to come down here next week instead? I should like you to see him for yourself: or even sooner.”
She was still hopelessly confused with these apparent alternations. She still wondered whether Mr. Cathcart were as mad as he seemed. They turned, as the village came in sight ahead, up the hill.
“Next week? I could try,” she said mechanically. “But I don’t understand—”
He held up a gloved hand.
“Wait till you have seen him,” he said. “For myself, I shall make a point of seeing Mr. Morton every day to hear the news. … Miss Deronnais, I tell you plainly that you alone will have to bear the weight of all this, unless Mrs. Baxter—”
“Oh, do explain,” she said almost irritably.