“May I go, Aunt Emma?” enquired Betty. “I think I might be of some use. I can nurse a little, and I know all the keys.”
“To be sure you can go,” returned her cousin promptly, “get ready at once.”
Betty’s services at such a time would cement the intimacy between the families, and draw the houses of Noone and Bridgetstown more closely together; of course George would be coming home. Then, to Maria: “Have you telegraphed for Mr. Holroyd?”
“No, I never thought of him. I am glad you reminded me.”
“Shall I telegraph?” said Belle eagerly.
“Oh no, just give me his address, and I will send a wire as I pass the post office. Dr. Moran is up there. He can do no harm to a man once he is dead, but we shall want some one with some sense. From what I can gather, affairs are in an awful state. I should not be surprised if the creditors seized the body; there will be nothing but debts coming in to the widow.”
“Oh, I hope not, poor woman,” said Mrs. Redmond sympathetically.
“This was the Derby day, you know, and the Major has lost tremendously. He backed some horse for a great deal, and the telegram in his hand said: ‘King Canute not placed.’”
“You don’t think he—he made away with himself?” said Mrs. Redmond in a mysterious manner.
“Oh, no; it was just this bad news on the top of a very heavy lunch that killed him. Dr. Moran said it was—not that he knows much about it.”