"Yes, Mr. Lambert," Rathbone said coldly. He did not dislike the man—in fact, he had considered him basically both honest and tolerant—but he was burning with an inner anger and confusion, and a great degree of guilt. He did not want to have to be civil to anyone, least of all someone who was part of the tragedy and might, all too understandably, be seeking some relief from his own burden. Rathbone had none to offer.

"When did—when did you know?" Lambert said earnestly, his face creased, his eyes intent. "I could never be—I..." He stopped. He was too patently telling the truth to be doubted.

"The same moment you did, Mr. Lambert," Rathbone replied. "Perhaps I should have guessed, rather than assume the relationship with Wolff was an immoral or illegal one. Perhaps you should have. We didn't, and it is too late now to undo our destruction of her life or recall the talent we have cut off forever."

They were both of them oblivious to others in the hallway.

"If she'd told me the truth!" Lambert protested, his hands sawing in the air. "If she'd just trusted us!"

"We would what?" Rathbone asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I... well, for God's sake, I wouldn't have sued her!"

Rathbone laughed with a startlingly bitter sound. "Of course you wouldn't! You would have appeared ridiculous. You would have been ridiculous. But if she had come to you as a woman with those new, extraordinary designs for buildings, all light and curves, would you have put up the money to build them?"

"I ... I ..." Lambert stopped, staring at Rathbone, his cheeks white. He was too innately honest a man to he, even to himself, now the truth was plain. "No ... I doubt it... no, no, I suppose not. I thought hard as it was. He was ... she was ... so revolutionary. But by God, Rathbone, they were beautiful!" he said with a sudden, fierce passion, his eyes brilliant, his face translucent, alight with will and conviction.

"They still are," Rathbone said quietly. "The art is the same. It remains within the creator if it stands or falls."

"By God, you're right!" Lambert exploded savagely. "Heaven help us all... what a bigoted, shortsighted, narrow, self-seeking lot we are!" He stood in the corridor with his shoulders hunched, his jaw tight, his fists clenched in front of him.

"Sometimes," Rathbone agreed. "But at least if we can see it, there is hope for us."

"There's no bloody hope for Melville! We've finished that!" Lambert spat back at him.