Mrs. May struggled weakly out of her chair, and then dropped heavily into it again.
“Drowned! Diana! Don’t be foolish, Grace! It’s not possible!”
Mr. May seized his cap and threw it on his head.
“Here, I’ll soon put a stop to all this nonsense!” he said. “Let me get down to the cove,—what’s the good of a parcel of silly fools of women shrieking and crying before they know what’s happened!” He marched up to Grace Laurie and grasped her by the shoulder. “Now, be calm! Can you be calm?”
Grace caught her breath, and wriggled herself away from the nip of his fingers.
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, then, repeat what you said just now,—you went down to the cove and saw——”
“Miss Diana’s clothes,—all put by on the rocks, just as she always puts them out of the way when she’s going to bathe,” said Grace. “And her bathing towel,—that hasn’t been used. And her shoes and stockings. But Miss Diana’s gone!”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” moaned Mrs. May. “What dreadful, dreadful things you are saying! What are we to do? Oh, I feel so ill! My sweet Diana!—my only, only precious child! Oh, James, James!”
And with her face suddenly working up into all sorts of lines and creases as though it were an india-rubber mask pulled from behind, she began to weep slowly and tricklingly, like a tap with a stoppage in its middle.