“What is it, Mr. Frere?”
“Oh, it's you, Sylvia, is it? Ha, ha, ha! I was thinking of something—something funny.”
“Indeed,” said Sylvia, “I am glad of that. Where's Mr. Dawes?”
Frere was displeased at the interest with which she asked the question.
“You are always thinking of that fellow. It's Dawes, Dawes, Dawes all day long. He has gone.”
“Oh!” with a sorrowful accent. “Mamma wants to see him.”
“What about?” says Frere roughly. “Mamma is ill, Mr. Frere.”
“Dawes isn't a doctor. What's the matter with her?”
“She is worse than she was yesterday. I don't know what is the matter.”
Frere, somewhat alarmed, strode over to the little cavern.