Old Hannah was the first person to come downstairs. To her, blear-eyed and affectionate, he, with an agonized twisting of lips, in order that he might not shout his news to the entire household, announced the fact that he was shortly to be married.
His ancient nurse staggered back as if she had received a blow, and fell in a rickety heap of bones on the hall floor. He lifted her up, administered restoratives, and presently had the mortification of seeing her burst into tears and stumble down to the basement.
“And she professes to adore Stargarde,” he muttered, backing in discomfiture into the dining room to avoid the two smart maids, who were tripping down the staircase in snowy caps and aprons.
Warned by his experience with Hannah, he said nothing to Mrs. Trotley and Zilla beyond a polite “Good-morning,” till they were well on with their breakfast. Then, with a diminished spirit, he cautiously informed them of the approaching change in his condition.
Zilla had been talking volubly, but at his words she snapped off a sentence on her lips, let fall her porridge spoon, and gave him a look that made him quail.
Mrs. Trotley was more to be pitied than Zilla. At the close of a long and unhappy life the lines had fallen to her in pleasant places, and these pleasant places she naturally supposed she must forsake should her patron marry. Yet she had command enough over herself to endeavor to hide her feelings. Camperdown’s keen eyes, however, pierced through her disguise, and even while she was uttering her congratulations to him, and wishing that Stargarde might enjoy every happiness, he saw the two salt tears come rolling slowly down her cheeks.
She knew that he saw them, and was overcome by confusion. “We have been very happy together,” she murmured apologetically.
Zilla made no pretense at self-control. Pushing herself violently away from the table she ran upstairs, where Camperdown knew she would cry till she made herself ill.
“What a monster I am!” he soliloquized, excusing himself from the table and hastily making his way out of the house. “Only the author of all these troubles can heal them.”
He walked rapidly toward the Pavilion, stopping once on his way there to order a gift of fruit and flowers to be sent immediately to Mrs. Trotley and Zilla.