She cast a glance at him. There was no doubting the truth of what he said; at this moment he looked feeble and pain-worn.
‘Where did your illness come upon you?’ she asked, her tone unsoftened.
‘In Germany. I started only a few hours after receiving the letter in which you told me of the death.’
‘My other letters you paid no heed to?’
‘I could not reply to them.’
He spoke after hesitation, but firmly, as one does who has something to brave out.
‘It would have been better for you if you had been able, Hubert. Your refusal has best you dear.’
He looked up inquiringly.
‘Mr. Mutimer,’ his mother continued, a tremor in her voice, ‘destroyed his will a day or two before he died.’
Hubert said nothing. His fingers, looked together before him, twitched a little; his face gave no sign.