She contrived to remain outwardly calm until she reached the seclusion of the sitting room, when she broke into a flood of tears, while in disjointed and hysterical words she blamed her own rashness for the fate which had overtaken her mother.
If only she had used better judgment when the telegram came--if only she had hired an automobile and driven straight to Beachy Head--if only she had done a dozen other things which no one would possibly have dreamed of doing--she might have safeguarded her darling mother! Theydon, meanwhile, was nearly frantic with the indecision of ignorance.
Never had he felt so helpless, so utterly childish and unhinged in the face of disaster.

He had heard that it was good for a woman to be allowed to cry when overwhelmed with misery.

Again, he remembered reading somewhere that the feminine temperament should not be allowed to yield to a too-tempestuous grief, or the delicate and finely-balanced female organism might suffer irreparable injury.

Should she be given water or a stimulant?
Should one leave her alone or endeavor to soothe her?
Heaven only knew--he didn't--so he did exactly what any devout and despairing lover might be expected to do--put an arm around her shoulders, and murmured a frenzied assurance of his willingness to die several times, and vanquish a horde of Young Manchus in the process, ere she could be allowed to endure one needless hour of distress on her mother's account.
Somehow, this sort of nonsense was helpful.

The girl raised her swimming eyes to his.