Bess turned pale. Something had happened to George at the office, perhaps. Had he overworked himself and brought on a paralytic stroke?
‘I am Mrs. Smith,’ she stammered. ‘Is it anything about my husband?’
‘Don’t alarm yourself, my dear madam,’ answered the gentleman politely; ‘I’ve only brought a message from him.’
Mr. Preene handed Mrs. Smith her husband’s hastily scribbled note.
She read it with a vague feeling of alarm.
‘What does it mean?’ she stammered. ‘Oh, you are not keeping anything from me? He is not ill?’
‘You alarm yourself needlessly, I assure you. It is only a matter of business. If you will put on your things at once and keep the appointment, you will find it is all right.’
‘Are you in his office, sir?’ asked Bess, wondering what she should do with no one in the house.
Here was the opportunity Preene was waiting for.
‘No,’ he answered; ‘I come from Grigg and Limpet’s—Mr. Duck’s employers. Smith and Co. have business with our firm, and that is where I met your husband. I was coming on to see Miss Duck, and he asked me to bring this note at the same time.’