Henry led him into the house. "I went out to get the evening papers to see about Gilbert's play," he went on, "and that's what I saw. I saw her at Southampton going off as proud as a queen ... and now she's at the bottom of the Atlantic. And Tom waved his hand to me. He was going to show me over her properly when he came back. Isn't it horrible, Quinny? What's the sense of it ... what the hell's the sense of it?" "She can't have gone down ..." Henry said, as if that would comfort Ninian. "She has, I tell you...." Henry went to the sideboard and took out the whisky. "Here, Ninian," he said, pouring out some of it, "drink that. You're upset!..." "No, I don't want any whisky. God damn it, what's the sense of a thing like this! A man like Tom Arthurs!..." There was a noise like the sound of a taxi-cab drawing up in front of the house, and presently the bell rang, and then, after a moment or two, the door opened, and Mrs. Graham came hurrying into the room. "Ninian! Where's Ninian?" she said wildly to Henry. "He's here, Mrs. Graham!" She went to him and clutched him tightly to her. "Oh, my dear, my dear," she said. "What is it, mother?" he asked, calming himself and looking at her. "I telephoned to your office, but you weren't there, so I came here to find you. I couldn't rest content till I'd seen you!" "What is it, mother?" "That ship, Ninian. If you'd been on it ... you wanted to go, and I said why didn't you ... oh, my dear, if you'd been on it, and I'd lost you!" He put his arms about her and drew her on to his shoulder. "I'm all right, mother!" he said. Henry left the room hurriedly. He went to the kitchen and called to Mrs. Clutters. "I won't be in to lunch," he said. "Don't let any one disturb Mrs. Graham and Mr. Graham for a while. They ... they've had bad news!" Then he went out of the house. The taxi-cab in which Mrs. Graham had come was still standing outside the door. "I ain't 'ad me fare yet," said the driver. "All right!" said Henry. "I'll pay it." He gave Cecily's address to the man, and then he got into the cab. 3 He could hear the newspaper boys crying out the news of the disaster as he was driven swiftly to Cecily's house. The sinking of the great ship had stunned men's minds and humiliated their pride. This beautiful vessel, skilfully built, the greatest ship afloat, had seemed imperishable, the most powerful weapon that man had yet forged to subdue the sea, and in a little while, recoiling from the hidden iceberg, she had foundered, broken as easily as a child's toy, carrying all her vanity and strength to the bottom.... "It isn't true," he kept on saying to himself as if he were trying to contradict the cries of the newsvendors. "She's a Belfast boat and Belfast boats don't go down...."