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The breeze stirring the grass spread out at his feet seemed to whisper of the strange unexpected thing that had broken in upon his life. He felt the splendid companionship of the fields for the master. Suddenly Martin Cosgrave looked down at his cabin. Something snapped as his eyes remained riveted upon it.
"I was awfully glad to get your letter," he said. "I'd begun to worry rather." Cosgrave flushed up. "That's that's about the nicest thing that's happened to me for a long time. I'd probably cry with pleasure only I don't seem able to feel much anyway. It's those damn bugs, I suppose!" "I'll pull you out of that." "Got me diagnosed already?" "It's not very difficult."
There was, indeed, a disconcerting crowd gathered round the chief entrance, but Robert was like a general, cool and vigorous, strung up to the finest pitch of cunning. He wormed his way under the ropes, he edged and insinuated himself between the idle and good-natured onlookers, with Cosgrave, tossed and buffeted, but still in tow, struggling in the backwash.
It was to be "full of little turrets and the finest of fancy porches and a regular sight of bulging windows." One day that Martin Cosgrave heard a neighbour speaking about the "bulging windows" he laughed a half-bitter, half-mocking laugh. "Tell them," he said, "that they are cut-stone tracery windows to fit in with the carved doors."
He had been a successful physician outside his specialty and his sheer indifference to his patients as human beings had been one of his chief weapons. He braced them, imposing his sense of values so that their own sufferings became insignificant, and they ceased to worry so much about themselves. But with Cosgrave he was not indifferent.
When she spoke her voice was full of an understanding womanly sympathy. "Don't be troubling over it, Martin," she said, "Rose is not worth it." She spoke her sister's name with some bitterness. Vaguely Martin Cosgrave looked into the girl's eyes. He read there in a dim way what the girl could not say of her sister. It was all so strange!
He tracked Cosgrave to his former lodging-house, where a stout, heavily-breathing landlady showed every readiness to be communicative and helpful. "Yes, sir he's here again I think he was expecting you mentioned your name he's out now and won't be back till late dinner at the Carlton, he said. If you'd like to leave a note, sir "
But when he had switched off the main lights he gave an involuntary glance over the suddenly shadowed room as though to make sure that the darkness had exorcised an alien and detestable presence. So she was sorry for him. That, at any rate, was amusing. Or perhaps she thought he was afraid of her in the obscure duel that was being fought out between them. Cosgrave caught hold of him as he passed.
She was a German Fredechen we call 'er and she could make Sauerkraut eh bien, I moi qui vous parle une bonne Francaise I make myself sick with 'er Sauerkraut. Afterwards she grow too stout and marry ze proprietaire of what you call it? a public-'ouse 'Ze Crown and Garter' at some town where we stop a week. By now, I think she 'ave many children and a chin for each." Cosgrave laughed noisily.
Sheela Dempsey looked up into the face of Martin Cosgrave and saw there what she had half-dreaded to see. "Martin," she said, "Rose is not coming home." Martin Cosgrave gripped the door of the waiting-room. The train whistled outside and glided from the station.
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