"She's told me it's true--what you think."
In the silence that fell on the four Rowcliffe stayed where he stood,
downcast and averted. It was as if he felt that Gwenda could have
charged him with betrayal of a trust.
The Vicar looked at his watch. He turned to Rowcliffe.
"Is that fellow coming, or is he not?"
"He won't funk it," said Rowcliffe.
He turned. His eyes met Gwenda's. "I think I can answer for his
coming."
"Do you mean Jim Greatorex?" she said.
"Yes."
"What is it that he won't funk?"
She looked from one to the other. Nobody answered her. It was as if
they were, all three, afraid of her.
"I see," she said. "If you ask me I think he'd much better not come."
"My dear Gwenda----" The Vicar was deferent to the power that had
dragged Ally's confession from her.
"We _must_ get through with this. The sooner the better. It's what
we're all here for."
"I know. Still--I think you'll have to leave it."
"Leave it?"
"Yes, Papa."
"We can't leave it," said Rowcliffe. "Something's got to be done."
The Vicar groaned and Rowcliffe had pity on him.
"If you'd like me to do it--I can interview him."
"I wish you would."
"Very well." He moved uneasily. "I'd better see him here, hadn't I?"
"You'd better not see him anywhere," said Gwenda. "He can't marry
her."
She held them all three by the sheer shock of it.