Suddenly a ring at the front door, and the opening of the study door. Mr. Page appeared alone, not followed as was usual by Mr. Wilmot.
"Good evening, Miss Wilmot—good evening," said Mr. Page. "Fine day, isn't it? Mr. Wilmot doesn't seem quite the thing, though—no, certainly not quite the thing. He'll be getting away for a holiday soon, and that'll set him up. I tell him, he wants a holiday, for he works too hard—a great deal too hard. Never any rest, morning, noon, or night, Sunday or week-day. Human nature wasn't made to stand it. I'm sorry to have had to stay so long, but there was a lot of things to settle. Good-bye, good-bye."
Mr. Page vanished, and a voice at the front door was requesting to "see Mr. Wilmot." Annie waited to see who it might be, then glided into the study.
The room was getting rather dark, and Mr. Wilmot had chosen a shady position, leaning back in his easy-chair.
"Father, Mr. Page has been very long. Somebody else wants a word with you now."
A pause, and then—"I think—I can do no more."
The voice was not entirely natural.
Annie bent over him, trying to see his face.
"Are you very tired, father?"
"Yes—strangely weary to-night."