“My dear child,” he said, “you must forgive me. I forgot.”
“No, no, please,” I said, though I was crying by this time. “I don’t mind; it was quite true.”
But at that moment we were all startled by a knock at the door—this room was the old lady’s private sitting-room and a man-servant, not David—an older one—appeared in answer to Mrs Fetherston’s “Come in.”
“A—a gentleman to see Major Whyte, if you please, ma’am,” he said; adding in a lower tone, “I think it’s something rather particular.”
Major Whyte turned to go, but a fit of coughing interrupted him.
“My poor boy, you are killing yourself,” said his aunt; “Freeland, bring the gentleman up here if it is anything particular. Your master can’t go running up and down stairs in this way.”