"That was bound to be. Go down to breakfast. Your grandmother is here. I will send if he should rouse and wish for you."
She nodded, and slipped away. Judith was asleep on her bed, but breakfast had been laid in the parlour, and the Duchess of Avon was sitting behind the coffee cups.
She greeted her granddaughter with a smile and a tender embrace. "There, dearest! Such a happy morning for you after all! Sit down, and I will give you some coffee."
"Harry is dead," Barbara said.
The Duchess's hand trembled. She set the coffee pot down, and looked at Barbara.
"Charles told me. George was alive when he left the field."
The Duchess said nothing. Two large tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped them away, picked up the coffee pot again, poured a cup out rather unsteadily and gave it to Barbara. After a long pause she said: "Such foolish thoughts keep crossing my mind. One remembers little, forgotten things. He would always call me 'The Old Lady', in spite of your grandfather's disliking it so. Such a bad, merry boy!" She stretched out her hand to Barbara, and clasped one of hers. "Poor child, I wish I could say something to comfort you."
"It seems as though every joy that comes to one must have a grief to spoil it."
"It is so, but think instead, dearest, that every grief has joy to lighten it. Nothing in this world is quite perfect, nor quite unbearable." She patted Barbara's hand, and said in a voice of determined cheerfulness: "When you have eaten your breakfast, I am going to send you round to see your grandfather. A turn in the fresh air will make you feel better."
"I could not leave Charles."