"Do you know what you are wanted for at the Castle?" she asked briskly.
"No."
"What has happened to your voice?" she asked, in a tone of anxiety and surprise. He had spoken as though his windpipe was almost closed in a gripe.
"Nothing; or at least something has gone against my—breath. What am I wanted for at the Castle?" Still he spoke as if half suffocated. Still he kept his face to the window. Still his face was wrinkled and yellow and withered up.
"I met Dr. Hardy as I came in. He had just driven straight back from the Castle. There has been a consultation of doctors to-day, and they have little or no hope of Sir Alexander getting better. He has not yet made his will, and they all agreed you were the only person likely to have any influence with him. They could get him to do nothing about it."
Grey's face cleared as if by magic. He turned round suddenly, threw up both his hands, and burst into a loud and continuous shout of laughter.
His mother started to her feet, and looked at him aghast. "Henry!" she cried, in great alarm; "Henry, what is the matter?"
"Nothing, mother, nothing," he said between his laughter; "I thought it was something serious."
She regarded him in a stupor of amazement for a few seconds. "You thought it was something serious," she whispered, as if she questioned her hearing.
"Yes, something very serious."