'I hate to be imparter of evil news.'
'Oho,' said Miss Hurdell, elevating her eyebrows; 'sets the wind in that quarter?'
'What do you mean, Lucretia?'
'Well, that she is not the first married lady you have taken a tender interest in.'
'Lucretia!' exclaimed the baronet, in a tone of angry expostulation, as some of their gentlemen guests came noisily in, in Russell cords, top boots, and spurs, some in pink and some in black coats.
At that moment elsewhere were others who were more deeply and terribly interested in the startling tidings from Matarieh, flashed by the same electric wire.
Lord Aberfeldie was leisurely opening the Times, which Mr. Tappleton had duly cut and aired for him, with the other morning papers. His eyes ran rapidly over the columns for the last, news from Egypt, which seemed very tame now, as all the fighting and excitement were over; so Lady Aberfeldie was not watching him, as she used to do, with anxiety, and neither was Olive, who was already deep in the pages of the Queen, when an exclamation that escaped him made them both start.
'What is the matter?' cried Lady Aberfeldie. 'You look ill, dear.'
'Uncle, what do you see?' added Olive. 'Is anything wrong with—with——'
'Allan—yes.'