“Oh, Sir Edward, it cannot be true,” she said. “We had a letter from Hugh on Monday, and he does not say a word. It cannot be true.”
“Hugh is very young,” said Sir Edward, who did not like to be supposed wrong in a point of fact. “A boy with no experience might see a man all but dying, and as long as he did not complain would never know.”
“But he looked very well when we were there,” said Aunt Agatha, faltering. If she had been alone she would have shed silent tears, and her thoughts would have been both sad and bitter; but this was not a moment to think of her own feelings—nor above all to cry.
Sir Edward shook his head. “I always mistrust those sort of looks for my part,” he said. “A big man has always an appearance of strength, and that carries it off.”
“Is it Mr. Ochterlony?” said Winnie, interposing for the first time. “What luck Mary has and her boys! And so Hugh will come into the property without any waiting. It may be very sad of course, Aunt Agatha, but it is great luck for him at his age.”
“Oh, Winnie, my dear love!” cried Aunt Agatha, feebly. It was a speech that went to her heart, but she was dumb between the two people who did not care for Francis Ochterlony, and could find nothing to say.
“I hope that is not the way in which any of us look at it,” said Sir Edward with gentle severity; and then he added, “I always thought if you had been left a little more to yourselves when we were at Earlston that still you might have made it up.”
“Oh no, no!” said Aunt Agatha, “now that we are both old people—and he was always far too sensible. But it was not anything of that sort. Francis Ochterlony and I were—were always dear friends.”
“Well, you must let me know next time when Hugh writes,” said Sir Edward, “and I hope we shall have better news.” When he said this he turned again quite abruptly to Winnie, who had dropped once more into her own thoughts, and expected no new assault.
“Percival is coming to fetch you, I suppose?” he said. “I think I can offer him some good shooting in a month or two. This may overcloud us all a little if—if anything should happen to Francis Ochterlony. But after what your Aunt Agatha says, I feel disposed to hope the best.”