‘It is nothing very bad. You must not be alarmed—there is no ill news,’ he said.
The anxious mother looked at him with a wistful entreaty in her eyes. Ill news was not what she feared. When a woman has had neither companionship nor help from her husband for a dozen years or so, naturally her sensitiveness of anxiety about him gets modified, and it is to be feared that she would have taken information of Mr. Meredith’s serious illness, for instance, more easily than the summons which she feared for one of her boys. She watched every movement of her visitor’s face with anxious interest.
‘Edward cannot go till the settled time. You know that,’ she said, instinctively following the leading of her own thoughts.
‘It is not Edward that I have come to speak of; it is neither of the boys.’
‘Ah!’ said Mrs. Meredith, with a sigh of involuntary relief; and she turned to him with cheerful ease and interest, delivered from her chief fear. This evident ignorance of any other cause for animadversion moved the old Spy in spite of himself.
‘What I am going to say to you, my dear lady, is not exactly from Meredith—though he has heard of the subject, and wishes me to say something. I hope you will believe there is no harm meant, and that what I do, I do from the best feeling.’
‘I have never doubted your kind feeling, Mr. Sommerville; but you half frighten me,’ she said, with a smile. ‘If it is not the boys, what can there be to be so grave about? Tell me quickly, please.’
Mr. Sommerville cleared his throat. He put his hat upon the head of his cane, and twirled it about. It did not often happen to the old Scotch nabob to be embarrassed; but he was so now.
‘You’ll understand, my dear lady, that in what I say I’m solely actuated by the thought of your good.’
‘How you alarm me!’ said Mrs. Meredith. ‘It is something, then, very disagreeable?’