If the General had been less sad, he might have found it hard to restrain a smile.
"It will be all right now, however—now that our dear Theodore is coming home, I shall be so glad to have his advice and help. My dear aunt has always seen to everything, and I am so inexperienced."
"Could I help you?" asked the General. He had something to say which he did not know how to say. With the moral cowardice of many a physically brave man, he was willing to put off the evil moment.
"Would you not mind?" Sybella hesitated, recollecting that here was another widower. But he had come to her; she would not have to go to him; and he was an old family friend.
"Would you really not mind? There is a letter from my brother's lawyer which I cannot understand. Something about investments. He uses such odd phrases. And a cheque has come, which I sent to the Bank, and they would not change it. They said it was not endorsed. Pearce says that means writing one's name at the back. I have had to do it before, but I never can remember if I ought to write across or lengthways, and at which end."
General Villiers solved this knotty point, and glanced at the lawyer's letter.
"Nothing of importance," he said. "I will explain it by-and-by. I must not delay longer—speaking. I have brought you sad news."
Sybella looked inquiring. General Villiers drew the child forward.
"Can you see no likeness?"
The boy turned his face towards her—a fragile colourless face, with violet eyes so dark as to be almost black, and a mass of brown hair curling thickly over the little head.