“You are wanted, sir. A lady, this time.”
“I am engaged, you know that,” said Hugh, annoyed, for a dresser he had had occasion to reprove was just passing, and he saw the young man grin. “You should have asked her name.”
“I did, sir. But she said it didn’t matter, she would not keep you a minute. I took her into the board-room, sir.”
She, whoever she was, had evidently known the passport to the porter’s goodwill, thought Hugh, running downstairs. What lady could it be? If it were Daisy, he would give her a scolding she would remember.
Entering the board-room he was met by Mrs. Mervyn, pale, agitated.
“Oh, Mr. Paull! How could you forsake us so?” she said, almost indignantly.
Then she broke down, turned away, and hid her face in her handkerchief.
Hugh was so taken aback that for a moment or two he stood and stared. Then he felt that something must have happened—he hardly dared think what.
“I—forsaken you?” he said, as Mrs. Mervyn conquered her emotion and sat down. “I have not heard one word from the Pinewood since I spent those two days there.”
“You have had a letter and two telegrams,” said Mrs. Mervyn. “Sir Roderick was taken ill a week ago. Lilia wrote and asked your advice. No answer came. She telegraphed. No answer. Captain Pym offered to go to town to fetch Dr. Beard, the physician our doctor asked for. Mr. Mervyn wired to you,—silence. Captain Pym said he called here, but finding that you had been in the hospital all the time, and that therefore you evidently did not want to be bothered with us, or you would have taken some notice of the letter and telegrams, he did not trouble you in the matter.”