“Dear Daisy!” she said. “What a garden it will be! Anything else?”
“Yes, I had tea with them, and while I was out, there was a trunk-call for me. So tarsome. Whoever it was couldn’t make any way, and she’s going to telegraph. I can’t imagine who it was.”
“I wonder!” said Lucia in an interested voice. Then she recollected herself again. “I had a sort of presentiment, Georgie, when I saw that telegram for Pepino on the table, two days ago, that it was bad news.”
“Curious,” said Georgie. “And what delicious fish! How do you always manage to get better things than any of us? It tastes of the sea. And I am so hungry after all my work.”
Lucia went firmly on.
“I took it to poor Pepino,” she said, “and he got quite white. And then—so like him—he thought of me. ‘It’s bad news, darling,’ he said, ‘and we’ve got to help each other to bear it!’”
“So like Pepino,” said Georgie. “Mr. Quantock saw him going to the station. Where is he going to sleep to-night?”
Lucia took a little more fish.
“In Auntie’s house in Brompton Square,” she said.
“So that’s where it is!” thought Georgie. If there was a light anywhere in Daisy’s house, except in the attics, he would have to go in for a minute, on his return home, and communicate the news.