“Oh, I’m so sorry,” said Herbert. “I am beastly sorry.”
As he spoke the bell rang again, and Herbert went over to his mother and whispered to her:
“Do you think that is Clare? My God, this is awful!”
“Clare was not looking very well the other day when I saw her,” said Mrs. Atkinson Brown. “I thought perhaps she was sickening for something.”
“Oh, I assure you she was never better in her life,” said Herbert.
“But you men are so unobservant. I am dying to see dear Clare, to ask her how she feels. Are you sure I can’t be of any use to her?”
She rose again from her chair, and Herbert gave a beseeching look to his mother.
“Oh, quite sure, dear,” said Mrs. Heywood. “Do sit down.”
“Besides, you have such a frightful cold,” said Herbert, with extreme anxiety. “Do keep closer to the fire.”
Mrs. Atkinson Brown laughed a little curiously: