Her husband, catching sight of Mrs Macmichel's face as she entered, followed her upstairs to her room. She was lying, dressed as she was, on her bed, with her face hidden.
"My dear, what is the matter? What have you been doing with yourself?" he asked.
She had been to the Rectory, to call on the Joneses, she told him.
"Well?"
"The Doughty has gone down. All on board lost."
"So I hear. Well?"
"It was their son's ship."
"Well?"
"Freddy's." She sat up and laughed across the sob in her throat. "You stupid! I am crying because Freddy did not go down in the Doughty," she said.