'Your letters, ma'am,' she said. 'They were forgotten when I brought up the tray.'
There were only three. Two were nothing particular—accounts or something. But the third was in a strange handwriting, and mums opened it quickly.
'It's from Lady Nearn,' she said. 'I think it was rather me to write to her. It's very kind of her, but——'
She began reading it, and her face got very grave.
'Do leave it till you've finished your breakfast, mums,' I said. 'You've not even finished the first course.'
But she scarcely listened to me.
'Oh, Jack!' she said, 'I'm afraid we haven't got to the end of the troubles caused by poor gran's diamonds yet. Oh dear, I shall be so uneasy for some days to come!'
I couldn't make out what she meant, and when she saw my puzzled face she went on to explain. Lady Nearn's letter was very kind, but she thought it right to tell mother that Anne and Serena had run into some risk by coming to her house the night before, for it was quite decided that three of her children had got whooping-cough. Not the two they had seen; at least she still hoped they—the twins—wouldn't get it, for they were very delicate, and they had been separated from the others. But still there was no telling how infection might be caught, and she advised mother to be prepared for her little girls having perhaps got the illness.
Mums did look worried.
'It's a most tiresome and trying thing,' she said; 'and neither Hebe nor Maud is very strong. Perhaps I shouldn't have told you, Jack. You must be sure not to speak of it to any of them.'