“Very well: give him this to post at Bradmouth, and tell him to be careful not to lose it, and not to be late.”
The butler went, and presently Henry caught sight of his messenger cantering down the drive.
“There!” he thought, “that’s done; and so am I in a sense. Now for my mother. I must have it out before my courage fails me.”
Then he went into the drawing-room, where he found Lady Graves engaged in doing up little boxes of wedding cake to be sent to various friends and connections.
She greeted him with a pleasant smile, made some little remark about the room being cold, and throwing back the long crape strings of her widow’s cap, lifted her face for Henry to kiss.
“Why, my dear boy, what’s the matter with you?” she said, starting as he bent over her. “You look so disturbed.”
“I am disturbed, mother,” he answered, seating himself, “and so I fear you will be when you have heard what I have to tell you.”
Lady Graves glanced at him in alarm; she was well trained in bad tidings, but use cannot accustom the blood horse to the whip or the heart to sorrow.
“Go on,” she said.
“Mother,” he began in a hoarse voice, “last night I told you that I intended to propose to Miss Levinger; now I have come to tell you that such a thing is absolutely impossible.”