Janet opened it.
Her lips parted to speak, and remained so in silent astonishment. “Just read that!” she said to Edwin, passing the telegram to him; and she added to her father: “It was for me, after all.”
Edwin read, aloud: “Am sending George down to-day. Please meet 6:30 train at Knype. Love. Hilda.”
“Well, I never!” exclaimed Mrs Orgreave. “You don’t mean to tell me she’s letting that boy travel alone! What next?”
“Where’s the telegram sent from?” asked Mr Orgreave.
Edwin examined the official indications: “Victoria.”
“Then she’s brought him up to London, and she’s putting him in a train at Euston. That’s it.”
“Only there is no London train that gets to Knype at half-past six,” Edwin said. “It’s 7:12, or 7:14—I forget.”
“Oh! That’s near enough for Hilda,” Janet smiled, looking at her watch.
“She doesn’t mean any other train?” Mrs Orgreave fearfully suggested.