"I've not seen her, but the girls say she's bearing up very bravely, poor thing. I went over there at once, of course, to see if I could be of any help, and saw Janet. Very much upset, of course, poor child, but most sensible and helpful. A brother of poor Charlie's is arriving to-day with his wife, and meanwhile we've made most of the necessary arrangements."
"What time is the funeral?"
Philip gave a very slight start at the question, asked in serious, but unsubdued, tones by Nicholas, and Lily guessed instantly that her father had hitherto avoided making direct use of the word.
"Half-past two, the day after to-morrow. That gives her family, who are very much scattered about the world, time to get here."
"Would Janet and Sylvia like me to go and see them to-morrow, do you think, Father?"
"Yes, my little pet. Janet says that your Cousin Ethel would like to see you, too. They think it's a comfort to her to talk. It's been a terrible shock, of course."
"Very sudden."
Lily knew by the way in which Nicholas spoke that he was making conversation, and that he would secretly have welcomed a change of subject.
"Very sudden indeed. He was apparently in his usual health, and perfectly cheerful, until Sunday evening, when he complained of a pain in his side. They none of them thought anything of it—he didn't himself—but he went upstairs early. He'd only been out of the room a few moments when they heard the sound of a fall. The maid heard it from the dining-room and went upstairs, and there she found him on the floor, unconscious. Most mercifully it wasn't your Cousin Ethel herself who found him there—the shock was terrible enough as it was. The doctor was there inside half an hour, but he couldn't do anything at all. It was all over by ten o'clock, and he never recovered consciousness at all."
"Heart, I suppose?"