“But my Uncle Bracewell writ it to my Aunt Kezia, and he dwells within fifteen miles,” I said.
My Uncle Charles looked much disturbed.
“I must go forth and see about this,” answered he.
“With your catarrh, Mr Desborough!” cried my Aunt Dorothea.
For above a week my Uncle Charles has not ventured from the door, having a bad catarrh.
“My catarrh must take care of itself,” he made answer. “This is serious news. Dobson, have you heard aught about the Prince being in retreat?”
Dobson, who was setting down the chocolate-pot, looked up and smiled.
“Yes, Sir, we heard that yesterday.”
“You idiot! why did you not tell me?” cried my Uncle Charles. “In retreat! I cannot believe it.”
“Run to the coffee-house, Dobson,” said Grandmamma, “and ask what news they have this morning.”