Soon accoutred for her drive, Mrs. Jerrold took her son's arm, and went down to her carriage. He handed her in, and stepped in after her.
"Why do you go, Walter?" she asked, looking annoyed.
"I wish to inquire after Mr. Stillinghast's health," he said, quietly.
A few minutes' drive brought them to Mr. Stillinghast's door. Helen heard the carriage stop, and her toilette, as usual, being very becomingly and carefully made—for Helen never forgot her self-homage—she met them at the door. Her countenance had assumed a sad and mournful expression, and in answer to their inquiries, she spoke in an agitated and subdued tone.
"It is horrible. I did not hear a word of it until to-day. I was dreadfully shocked," said Mrs. Jerrold, kissing her cheek.
"How is Mr. Stillinghast now, dear Helen?" asked Walter Jerrold, folding her hand closer in his own.
"They fear he is sinking," said Helen, in the same tone of counterfeit feeling.
"How melancholy!" said Mrs. Jerrold, taking possession of the corner of the sofa, almost dying with curiosity.
"Has he inquired after me, do you know Helen?"
"I have not heard."