"I suppose it is simply that Hubert is ill. He thinks probably that you are distracted by anxiety about him."
Enid colored guiltily.
"But we have good accounts of him," she said, as if explaining away her own apparent indifference; "he is going on as well as we can expect. And I suppose you would be with him if he were dangerously ill?"
"I am not sure of that," said Flossy rather drily; but she would say no more.
It was after breakfast one morning that Enid insisted upon being satisfied. She and the General had, as usual, breakfasted together, and a letter had just been received from the Doctor in attendance on Hubert, over which the General coughed, fidgeted, sighed, and was evidently so much disturbed that Enid's attention was roused to the uttermost. For the earlier part of the meal she had been sitting with her hands clasped before her, not attempting to touch the food upon her plate. She had no appetite; she had passed a bad night, and was little inclined to talk. But the General's movements and gestures excited her curiosity.
"Have you had bad news, uncle Richard?"
"No, no, my dear! He's going on very well—very well indeed."
"You mean Hubert?"
"Yes—yes, of course! Whom else should I mean? You needn't be alarmed about him at all; he'll soon be about again."
There was a tone of mingled vexation and perplexity in the General's voice.