“Your mother,” she said, for it was no use attempting to break things. “Sir Henry saw her again yesterday. There has to be an operation. There is some growth. They can’t tell what it is for certain until they operate. Dad is going to see her now. They have settled it is best for him to tell her. Of course he won’t tell her what the fear is. Oh Claude! I am so sorry; it is so dreadful.”
“How does the governor take it?” asked Claude.
“Exactly as you would expect.”
“But it will be awful for him telling her,” said he. “I had much better. Per or I, anyhow. It’ll tear his heart out.”
“He won’t let you. When Sir Henry spoke of telling her, he said at once. ‘That’s for me to do.’ And then he went away to have a few minutes alone before going to her.”
A tap came at the door: Lord Osborne always tapped before he entered Dora’s room. It was her bit of a flat, he called it, and his tap was ringing the bell, and asking if she was in.
“Well, Claude, my lad,” he said, “Dora will have told you. We’ve all got to keep up a brave heart, for your mother’s sake.”
Claude kissed his father, and somehow that went to Dora’s heart. He had once said to her that kissing seemed “pretty meaningless” when she was not concerned.
“Yes, Dad,” said he. “That we will.”
“That’s right, my boy. And that blessed girl of yours has been so good to me, such as never was, and if she’ll give her Dad a kiss, too, why there we are, and thank you, my dear. Now I’m going to see mother and tell her, and I daresay she’ll like to see you both some time to-day, though if she doesn’t, why you’ll both understand, won’t you? They’ve fixed it for to-morrow, if she’s agreeable.”