“Are you not acting prematurely in deciding that all is so very bad as you imagine? After all, it was a mere report you heard at the station. Something must be wrong, doubtless, but it may not be so bad as you think. Would it not be well, in the first place, to go to the bank, see Mr. Wrexham, and hear particulars?”
“Of course,” said Geoffrey, starting up and seizing his hat; “what a fool I was not to think of that before. But I really was stunned for the moment.”
“You must have a cup of tea or a glass of wine before you go,” suggested Veronica. “You will frighten everybody you meet, with that pale face of yours. Now be a good boy. Five minutes will make no difference—for the young man was chafing at the delay.
“And Marion?” he suddenly exclaimed, “she will be expecting me at home.”
“Stay here till the morning,” replied Miss Temple; “that will give us time to talk over matters after you have learnt the exact state of things. I will send a note to Marion while you are out, saying that I have kept you as you were tired with your two days’ journey, and asking her to send the carriage for you in the morning. I can get the gardener to take the note. He can borrow Dr. Baker’s pony.”
“Thank you,” said Geoffrey. “That will do very well.”
And thankful for the temporary reprieve, he set off on his errand of enquiry.
In about an hour’ time he returned. Veronica was anxiously waiting for him. He entered the room slowly, and threw himself on the sofa, hiding his face in its cushions.
“What have you heard?” asked Miss Temple at last, though his manner had already prepare her for his answer. It came, after moment’s interval, in a dull, dead tone.
“The very worst,” he replied.