“That’s it. Oh, Mr. Melbury, I’m so sorry that I should be the one to bring the news.”
“If it’s bad news,” I said, encouragingly, “I’d rather have you to share it with me than any one else in the world.”
She asked, abruptly, “Have you heard anything from home—lately?”
I had once more the sensation of the blood rushing back to my heart and staying there. All I could do was to shake my head.
“That’s what Annette thought. We told her she ought to write to you.”
In my excitement I clutched her by the hand, but I think she was hardly aware of the act any more than I.
“But what is it?”
“It’s—it’s about your father.”
“He’s not—he’s not—dead?”