“I feel certain Sir William will see me,” she said, “and I will follow you upstairs.”
Helplessly the servant obeyed her, and unfalteringly the soft footstep pattered after him up to the second floor. Then he entered the front bedroom, while she remained on the landing.
“Mrs. Baines wishes to know if she can speak to you, sir,” she heard him say.
“Tell her I am too ill to see any one,” a thin, distinct voice answered.
“She says it is a matter of extreme importance, sir.”
“I am writing letters, and don’t wish to be disturbed: bring my chicken-broth in twenty minutes.”
But a moment later, and Aunt Anne had whisked also into the room, passing the servant who was leaving it.
“William,” she said, “you must not refuse to let me see you once again. I cannot believe that you are too ill to shake hands with your cousin Anne.” As she spoke she looked round the room, and took in all its details at a glance. It had three windows, a writing-table and a book-case between them, facing them, a big four-post bedstead with dark hangings. To the left was a tall wardrobe of rosewood that had no looking-glass let into its panelled doors. By the fireplace was a roomy easy-chair, in which sat Sir William Rammage. He was dressed in a puce woollen dressing-gown, and half rolled up in a coloured blanket. By his side was an invalid table, with writing materials on it, and a flap at the side that stretched over his knees. In the large fireplace blazed a cheerful fire, and on the other side of the fireplace, and facing Sir William, there was a second easy-chair. He was evidently a tall man—thin, nervous, and irritable. His manner was cold and disagreeable, but it conveyed a sense of loneliness, a remembrance of long, cheerless years, that in a manner excused it. He looked like a man who had probably deserved respect, but had made few friendships. He was not nearly as old as he appeared at the first glance; illness, and work, and lack of human interests had aged him more than actual years.
“How do you do?” he said dryly.
“I have been so grieved to hear of your illness, William. I hope you received my letters—I wrote three or four times to tender you my sympathy.” She looked at the servant in a manner that said, “Go away”—and he went, carefully shutting the door.