"Shut the door," shouted the Squire, and the door was shut. "What on earth does it mean?" he asked, in angry amazement.
"Better have gone in to dinner," said Dick. "I don't know."
Mrs. Clinton was white, and said nothing. The Squire turned to her. "What does it mean, Nina?" he asked again. "Did you know anything about this?"
"Of course mother didn't know," said Dick. "There's something queer. It's too late to send a wire. I'll go up by the eleven o'clock train and find out all about it. Better go in now." He laid the telegram carelessly on a table.
"Don't leave it about," said the Squire.
"Better leave it there," said Dick, and offered his arm to his mother again.
They went into the dining-room, only a minute late.
"Tell Higgs to pack me a bag for two nights," said Dick when the Squire had mumbled a grace, "and order my cart for ten o'clock. I'm going up to London. I shan't want anybody."
Then, as long as the servants were in the room they talked as usual. At least Dick did, with frequent mention of Walter and Muriel and some of Cicely. The Squire responded to him as well as he was able, and Mrs. Clinton said nothing at all. But that was nothing unusual.
When they were alone at last, the Squire burst out, but in a low voice, "What on earth does it mean? Tell me what it means, Dick."