It happened that the Head of the House of Coombe was announced at that very moment even as she stood wringing her hands over the sofa.
He went to her side and looked at Gareth-Lawless.
“Have you sent for a doctor?” he inquired.
“He’s—only just done it!” she exclaimed. “It’s more than I can bear. You said the Prince would be at the supper after the opera and—”
“Were you thinking of going?” he put it to her quietly.
“I shall have to send for a nurse of course—” she began. He went so far as to interrupt her.
“You had better not go—if you’ll pardon my saying so,” he suggested.
“Not go? Not go at all?” she wailed.
“Not go at all,” was his answer. And there was such entire lack of encouragement in it that Feather sat down and burst into sobs.
In few than two weeks Robert was dead and she was left a lovely penniless widow with a child.