The poor dear is too ill.

Will you come downstairs, sir ?" Percy took a step towards the door, and Oliver moved slightly aside.
Then the priest stopped, turned and lifted his hand.
"God bless you!" he said simply, to the muttering figure in the bed.
Then he went out, and waited outside the door.
He could hear a low talking within; then a compassionate murmur from the girl's voice; then Oliver was beside him, trembling all over, as white as ashes, and made a silent gesture as he went past him down the stairs.
* * * * * The whole thing seemed to Percy like some incredible dream; it was all so unexpected, so untrue to life.

He felt conscious of an enormous shame at the sordidness of the affair, and at the same time of a kind of hopeless recklessness.

The worst had happened and the best--that was his sole comfort.
Oliver pushed a door open, touched a button, and went through into the suddenly lit room, followed by Percy.

Still in silence, he pointed to a chair, Percy sat down, and Oliver stood before the fireplace, his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, slightly turned away.
Percy's concentrated senses became aware of every detail of the room--the deep springy green carpet, smooth under his feet, the straight hanging thin silk curtains, the half-dozen low tables with a wealth of flowers upon them, and the books that lined the walls.