Daan Dercksz stuck his parroty profile through the door of the morning-room, nervously, and, on seeing Ina, said:
"I've brought bad news!"
"Bad news!" cried Ina, pricking up her ears again. "What is it, Uncle?"
"Dr. Roelofsz is dead."
"Oh, no!"
"Yes," said Uncle Daan to Ina, staring at him in dismay, and Anna, standing with the cat among her petticoats. "Dr. Roelofsz is dead. An apoplectic stroke.... They sent round to me first, because my pension was nearest.... It seems he took Takma's death very much to heart."
"It's dreadful," said Ina. "How is Grandmamma to be told? It will be such a blow to her. And she doesn't even know of Mr. Takma's death...."
"Yes, it's very difficult.... I've sent word to your father and I expect him here any minute; then we can talk over what we are to do and say. Perhaps somebody else will come to-day...."
"Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear!" sighed Anna.
She looked at the stove, which was burning rather low, and, reflecting that perhaps there would be a good many using the morning-room that day, she shook the cinder-drawer: the fire began to glow behind the mica panes.