"Did he come home to die? I mean, knowing that he was soon about to die?"
"No. He was weak and emaciated when he came, worn to a shadow; but he did not become really ill, dangerously ill, until afterwards."
"Do the servants know of it?" she asked, lowering her voice. "Will they be told of it?"
"Certainly not. We hope to keep it private to the end."
"But there must be——"
"Yes, yes," he hastily interrupted, seeing she would have alluded to the funeral. "Laken manages all that. What a bright morning it is!"
Mr. Chandos leaned from the window as if to turn the conversation. Emily, easily swayed, plucked a piece of mignonette.
"I suppose mamma will come downstairs to-day. Well, it's time she did."
"It is," asserted Mr. Chandos.
"For more reasons than one," she tartly added, which was a lance-shaft at me.