French looked at her in silence. She went on--with the unconscious manner of one accustomed to command her world, to be the oracle and guide of subordinates:--
"Could we not induce him to go? Could you not? Very likely he would refuse to see me; and, of course, he has, most unjustly to me, I think, refused to take any money from me. But the money might be provided without his knowing where it came from. A young doctor might be sent with him--some nice fellow who would keep him amused and look after him. At Heston he used to take a great interest in farming. He might take up land. I would pay anything--anything! He might suppose it came from some friend."
French smiled sadly. His eyes were on the ground. She bent forward.
"I beg of you, Mr. French, not to set yourself against me! Of course"--she drew herself up proudly--"I know what you must think of my action. Our views are different, irreconcilably different. You probably think all divorce wrong. We think, in America, that a marriage which has become a burden to either party is no marriage, and ought to cease. But that, of course"--she waved a rhetorical hand--"we cannot discuss. I do not propose for a moment to discuss it. You must allow me my national point of view. But surely we can, putting all that aside, combine to help Roger?"
"To marry again?" said French, slowly. "It can't, I fear, be done--what you propose--in the time. I doubt whether Roger has two years to live."
"Roger!--to live?" she repeated, in horror. "What is really the matter? Surely nothing more than care and a voyage could set right?"
"We have been anxious about him for some time. That terrible attack of septic pneumonia in New York, as we now know, left the heart injured and the lungs weakened. He was badly nursed, and his state of mind at the time--his misery and loneliness--left him little chance. Then the drinking habit, which he contracted during those wretched months in the States, has been of course sorely against him. However, we hoped against hope--Elsie and I--till a few weeks ago. Then someone, we don't know who, made him go to a specialist, and the verdict is--phthisis; not very advanced, but certain and definite. And the general outlook is not favourable."