“And Anne?” she questioned. “Has Anne been told?”
“Yes.” Lucille, still with her back to her cousin, felt that the keen eyes watching her were boring a hole through her head. “Doctor McLane broke the news to Anne after he had spoken to me. I fear she is inclined to be hysterical.”
“Poor Anne!” Lucille whirled around with sudden feverish energy. “I will dress at once and go to her.”
“Not just now, she is lying down and absolute quiet is what she needs,” Mrs. Meredith’s manner, which had thawed at sight of the girl’s emotion, stiffened. “If you will come to the dining room, breakfast will be served shortly.”
“Breakfast!” Lucille shuddered. “I don’t feel as if I could ever eat a mouthful again. Oh, Cousin Belle, how can you be so—so callous?”
“So what—” Mrs. Meredith stopped on her way to the door, and under the steady regard of her fine dark eyes Lucille’s burst of temper waned.
“So calm,” she replied hastily. “I wish that I had your self-control.”
A faint ironical smile crossed Mrs. Meredith’s pale face. “Self-control will come when you cease smoking,” she remarked dryly, pointing to an empty cigarette package and a filled ash tray by the bed. “And, you doubtless recall your discussion, only yesterday, with Cousin John on the subject of keeping early hours.”
Lucille flushed. “Cousin John was absurdly puritanical,” she protested. “We—ah—” she hesitated. “How has Cousin John’s death affected his plans for that extraordinary marriage? Surely, Anne won’t be forced to wed that blind surgeon. Doctor Curtis?”
“Our thoughts have not gone beyond the moment,” replied Mrs. Meredith. “We can think of nothing but John’s tragic death; all else is secondary. We must adjust ourselves,” she paused. “Hurry, Lucille, and join me in the dining room.”