The scent of the freesias suddenly sickened me.
"What is the matter?" I asked. "What has happened?"
"He wants to tell you himself," she said.
"He? And is it serious?"
She looked at me with that calm, untroubled sympathy that is the reward of those who give up their lives to mitigate suffering.
"Yes," she said. "It is very serious. Will you go up and see him now?"
"Surely. Where is he?"
"In his bedroom. The third door along the passage. Ah, I forgot; of course you know."
He was lying much propped up in bed, opposite the open window, and as he turned towards the door at my entry, I thought that this must be some wicked, inexplicable joke, so radiant and young and normal was his face.
"Ah, that's splendid!" he said. "It was ripping getting your telegram this morning."