His tone slightly startled Mrs Fortescue.
“To her future life, my dear friend. Alack and alas! to think that those poor children should be the sport of poverty. How cruel was their father’s will! How much, much more sensible it would have been to send them both to a charity school, and keep the little money for their needs when they grew up, that has been lavishly wasted year after year on their education. I have been counting carefully, and I make not the least doubt—”
“Excuse me,” said the Colonel: “I have come just to ask you a question and then to leave you. I am somewhat busy, and have not a moment to spare. Did you, or did you not, Mrs Fortescue—”
“Why, what is it?” asked Mrs Fortescue. “What a severe tone you are taking, my dear Colonel—and we have been such old friends.”
“Will you listen?” said the Colonel, and he thumped his hand on the table with such force that one of the letters which Mrs Fortescue was answering dropped on the floor.
“Of course I will listen,” she said gently. “Do calm yourself, dear Colonel. What can be wrong?”
“Nothing; at least, I hope nothing. I simply want to ask you one question, and I am then going.”
“Of course I will answer it.”
“Did you let Major Reid and his son know the change with regard to Florence Heathcote’s fortune?”
Now this was about the very last question which Mrs Fortescue expected to be asked. She changed colour and turned rather white.