“Minnie!” she sobbed. “Your poor father——”
Minnie had turned very pale.
“Hurry up!” she cried. “Is he—dead?”
Cousin Ella told her in a confused and broken way. A cable had come to tell of his death from pneumonia in Liverpool, the very day he had landed.
“I came to you at once” she said. “The very instant I had read it.”
That was her duty, of course. News of death must be spread without delay. She had driven off immediately to intercept Minnie, so that she should learn of it at least an hour sooner than if she had come home in the usual way.
Minnie was stunned and incredulous. Cousin Ella always got things mixed, anyway.
“Let’s see the cable!” she demanded.
Cousin Ella answered, with a shade of resentment, that she hadn’t brought it.
In a horrible nightmare daze, Minnie followed her to the carriage. It was not sorrow she felt, but dread; as if the catastrophe instead of having taken place already, were about to happen, were imminent. They drove along the familiar suburban roads, lined with charming houses, smooth lawns without fence or hedge, great trees, a domain prosperous, lovely and serene. They reached home, a grey stone house on a hill, planted with dwarf evergreens; they went in. Nothing in any way changed, the same well-ordered, comfortable dignity. It couldn’t be true! Father never coming back?