"Nancy, Nan!" came a voice from within, "who are you talking to out there? Why don't you bring them in?"
"I must break it gently," she whispered. "Shall I go first, and prepare them?"
"Do, do," he urged, and stood aside, as she swept into the drawing-room.
Freddy was sitting near a lamp, pince-nez on nose, holding a paper in a limp hand. Fan was knitting with an abstracted air. They looked up when Nancy entered.
"My dear people, I bring you good news," she proclaimed, "very good news! Geoffrey is all right—he is coming!" They had both risen to their feet, when she added, "He is here!"
Knitting and paper were hastily discarded, as the prodigal nephew followed his herald into the drawing-room. His welcome was rapturous; what a scene for the stage! Freddy nearly dragged his arm off. Fanny sobbed and shed happy tears, but the many things she would have uttered, choked in her throat.
"A nice fright you gave us, my boy!" said his cousin blowing his nose, "that note in the Royàpetta Star—you see, we had not had news for months—my fault! my fault! and when I saw this, I telegraphed off to General Beamish, but got no reply; though I wired three times, answer prepaid; then I tried the postmaster, and he said you were dead."
"He mixed us up," said Geoffrey, "General Beamish is dead,—he died a month ago."
"Yes, so we heard to-day, and that you had been taken away somewhere."
"You are all right again, are you, Geoffrey?" asked Fanny, as she scanned him critically. She, like her next door neighbour, the Coorg Princess, noticed that he looked thin, haggard, and shabby, in comparison to the Geoffrey of old days.