Her brother made no reply, and when she halted in her complaints he rustled his newspaper clumsily in an obvious effort to discourage further conversation. Just then a knock at the door was heard.
“Come in!” Miss Fordingbridge ordered.
A page-boy appeared.
“Message on the telephone for you, sir.”
Paul Fordingbridge rose reluctantly and left the room. He was absent for a very short time; and when he came back his sister could see that he was disturbed.
“That was a message from the doctor. It seems poor old Peter's gone.”
“Gone? Do you mean anything's happened to him?”
“He's had another attack—some time in the night or earlier. They didn't find out about it until the morning. The doctor's just been up at the cottage, so there's no doubt about it.”
“Poor Peter! He looked so well when I saw him the other day. One would have thought he'd live to see eighty. This will be a dreadful disappointment for Derek. He was so fond of the old man.”
She paused for a moment, as though she could hardly believe the news.