"Elfie dear, I must speak to your father," I said quietly. "You and Nona had better put on your waterproofs meantime, for it is raining."
I have not the least idea how I managed to evade inquiries, and to get into the waiting-room, alone with Mr. Romilly and his eldest son. That came about somehow,—Elfie assisting, under the evident impression that I had some trouble of my own to communicate. And then I broke the news.
Telegrams tell so cruelly little,—I have always felt this, yet never so keenly as when I stood in the little bare waiting-room, with the slip of paper in my hand, and those two faces looking anxiously for more—more! A railway accident,—of what kind we do not know; Mrs. Romilly "much hurt,"—how much we cannot guess; Eustace wanted there,—for what purpose we are not informed. Cologne so far-away too. The telegram went first to the Hepburns, and Mr. Hepburn has forwarded the sad news to me.
Eustace heard with his usual gravity; and somehow the shock to Mr. Romilly seemed less than I had expected. He did not lose his presence of mind, and there was not half so much fretting over this real calamity as over the minor worries of the journey. He said sighingly, "Poor dear Gertrude!" And then—"But I think—er—our duty is quite plain. Pray inquire about trains, my dear boy. I think—er—you and I should be off with—er—as little delay as possible. Yes, at once—er,—no need to go on to Beckdale. I could never forgive myself, if—er—if anything happened, and I had remained here. And Miss Con will undertake—er—the entire management—er—"
He came to a helpless pause.
"Yes, father," assented Eustace.
"I think—er—Phipps must accompany us,—yes, certainly—er—I cannot manage without Phipps." He sighed again dolefully. "It is a severe strain—er—in my health. But the call is urgent—er—undoubtedly urgent. Your dear mother is 'much hurt,' Nellie says,—and whatever that may mean—er—my duty is, I think—plain."
The thought flashed across me, quite wickedly, that poor little Mr. Romilly was by no means sorry to escape "that frightful descent," as he termed the road from the station. I cannot, of course, calmly let myself suppose that he thought of this at all: but the idea did intrude.
"Perhaps—" he went on,—"perhaps it would be best, Miss Conway—er,—if you could be so very kind as to call the girls—I think it might be as well to explain—"
I obeyed with no delay, and Eustace disappeared also, doubtless to make other arrangements. Denham was outside, and he rushed off at my request to collect his sisters.