“Cashel,” he called.
“Sir?”
“Her ladyship is up. Tell her I have a few words to say to her before she goes.”
“Beg pardon, sir——”
“Look here, Cashel, you do what I tell you.”
“I’ll tell Miss Unwin, sir.”
He went upstairs, leaving Oswald still thinking over the rugs. Yes, she was off! She had got everything; pointed Alpine sticks, tea-basket, travelling campstool. It must be Switzerland or Italy for the winter at least. A great yearning to see his aunt with his own eye came upon Oswald. He followed Cashel upstairs quietly but swiftly, and found him in a hasty whispered consultation with Unwin on the second landing. “Oh my ’ed’ll burst bang,” Unwin was saying.
“’Er ladyship, sir,” she began at the sight of Oswald.
“Ssh!” he said to her, and held her and Cashel silent with an uplifted forefinger while he listened to the sounds of a large powerful woman going to bed swiftly and violently in her clothes.
“I must go in to her, sir,” said Unwin breaking the silence. “Poor dear! It’s a very sudden attact.”