“Shut the door, David,” he said hastily. But then seeing us there he came forward a little way, courteously, “I beg your pardon, won’t you come in?”
We did so, sufficiently at least for David to shut the door; then the man turned to the gentleman to explain the state of the case.
“Do come in,” the gentleman repeated, throwing open the door of a library which looked warm and comfortable.
“I am half afraid Mrs Fetherston—”
Mamma and I glanced at each other. She was going to speak, I think, but I forestalled her.
“Major Whyte,” I said, “please may we tell you about it? Mamma—mamma is Mrs Percy,” I added.
He was very quick-witted. He seemed to know in an instant. Indeed, though we did not hear that till afterwards, he had that morning got a letter from his cousin, explaining the mystery of “Mary’s” strange behaviour! And in another moment we were in the library with him, the door closed, and David told to wait till he was rung for, while mamma told our story. Major White listened most attentively while mamma, clearly and without hesitation—except just once, and that was at the part about my naughty rudeness, when she stopped and glanced at me; “I need not say how deeply Constantia has grieved over this,” she said—related everything. The only sound besides her voice was Major Whyte’s cough, the sort of cough one cannot bear to hear. And when she stopped, for a minute or two he could not speak for coughing; his thin brown face grew so painfully red, and he seemed to shake all over. How sorry I felt for him!
Mamma waited quietly. Then glancing round she caught sight of a carafe of water and a glass on the side-table. She poured some out and brought it to him.
“Thank you—so much,” he said, and in a little he was able to speak again.