“Telegram this time in the morning?” said Norman, with a yawn, holding out his hand for it.
“It is early, my lord; but the boy who brought it said it had come as soon as the office was open.”
Norman sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, and extracted the hideously colored and uncomfortably feeling paper, read it, then sprung out of bed quite wide awake now.
“Get my things ready at once!” he said, hurriedly and anxiously. “What’s the first train I can catch?”
The valet thought a moment.
“You might catch the twenty to ten, my lord, if you were very quick. I hope your lordship hasn’t had bad news.”
“Yes, I have,” said Norman.
It was a telegram from The Manor saying that his mother was ill, and asking him to come at once. With the deftness of a well-trained servant, the man helped him to dress as quickly as possible.
“I will have some breakfast ready for you in the west room, my lord, and I’ll order the dog-cart. While you’re having your breakfast I’ll pack your lordship’s things.”