A footman entered, with a telegram for Lady Ingleby.
She took it with calm fingers, and without the usual sinking of the heart from sudden apprehension. Her mind was full of the conversation of the moment, and the doctor’s presence made her feel so strong and safe; so sure of no approach of evil tidings.
She did not hear Sir Deryck’s quiet voice say to the man: “You need not wait.”
As the door closed, the doctor turned away, and stood looking into the fire.
The room was very still.
Lady Ingleby opened her telegram, unfolded it slowly, and read it through twice.
Afterwards she sat on, in such absolute silence that, at length, the doctor turned and looked at her.
She met his eyes, quietly.
“Sir Deryck,” she said, “it is from the War Office. They tell me Michael has been killed. Do you think it is true?”
She handed him the telegram. Taking it from her, he read it in silence. Then: “Dear Lady Ingleby,” he said, very gently, “I fear there is no doubt. He has given his life for his country. You will be as brave in giving him, as he would wish his wife to be.”