Mr. Povey turned to face her, swallowing his emotion.
“A telegram!” said Miss Insull. “The postmaster brought it down himself—”
“What? Mr. Derry?” asked Samuel, opening the telegram with an affectation of majesty.
“Yes. He said it was too late for delivery by rights. But as it seemed very important ...”
Samuel scanned it and nodded gravely; then gave it to his wife. Tears came into her eyes.
“I’ll get Cousin Daniel to drive me over at once,” said Samuel, master of himself and of the situation.
“Wouldn’t it be better to hire?” Constance suggested. She had a prejudice against Daniel.
Mr. Povey shook his head. “He offered,” he replied. “I can’t refuse his offer.”
“Put your thick overcoat on, dear,” said Constance, in a dream, descending with him.
“I hope it isn’t—” Miss Insull stopped.