As he passed, he heard a sudden little noise from Sir William, who was apparently clearing his throat. Philip stopped and turned, and saw that he was awake again. He tip-toed nearer, glancing down at Gladys, who was still in the same position, sleeping soundly. The hand above her grasped a handkerchief, tiny and crumpled. She looked like a child. Sir William looked different too in this new light, looked curiously aged, stony, desolate.
‘Saw you looking out,’ he told Philip in a hoarse whisper. ‘What’s it like?’
‘The floods have gone down, I think,’ Philip replied very softly. ‘It’s not too bad a morning.’
Sir William grunted. ‘It’s got plenty of time yet. Wish I could sleep.’
‘I’m going to try now,’ said Philip, and crept away. The next moment he was lying on the floor by the side of Margaret’s chair.
‘Your wife asleep?’ The question came faintly.
‘Yes,’ he whispered, ‘fast asleep.’