'You have just come from the club, I presume?' said Sir Paget to his brother baronet.
'Yes; just waited to see the last telegrams in the reading-room.'
'Anything fresh from Egypt?' lisped Mr. Poole, with his glass wedged in his eye.
'Only a single telegram, which, by the way, must interest you. Lady Puddicombe,' said Sir Harry, with a most serious inflection of his Voice.
'Me—how?' faltered Eveline, feeling herself grow paler, if possible, than she really was.
'It refers to your brother.'
'My brother!'
She was pale to her quivering lips now.
'Yes; it states that an officer of the Black Watch had been killed in action with the Bedouins, and was buried in the sand of the desert by his friend, the Master of Aberfeldie.'
'And the officer's name?' said Sir Paget, icily.