"Anice could."
"I'd rather not. You can, if you like. You are always trying to put things off upon me," said injured Anice.
Fulvia hesitated; then she went, tapping lightly at the study door. There was no answer, and she opened it.
Papers lay over the table, letters and account-books mingled with other documents. Fulvia bestowed upon them a cursory glance. Nigel sat as if reading, the fingers of his right hand pushed up into his hair; but Fulvia knew that at the moment of her entrance he was thinking, not reading. The eyes slowly lifted had a faraway look. She closed the door, coming to the other side of the table.
"This is too soon," she said. "You are not well yet, and you ought to wait a few days."
"Time to speak out," was his reply.
"Not yet. Think of poor madre! It will break her heart. If only we could keep the worst from her!"
"Impossible!" Nigel spoke firmly, yet with a sound of weariness.
"At least she need not be told now?"
"I don't know. I must have things in train."