"My dear child! how could I guess that you were here? What does it mean?"
She looked at him with a curious sombre something in her big dark eyes, which reminded him of a child who is about to cry. Her lips trembled.
"Rodney, dad's dead."
His tone was eager, gentle, sympathetic; instinct with surprise.
"Dead! You--you don't mean it!"
"In the train."
"In the train! What train?" She told her tale, he listening with interest, anxiety, tenderness, which were sufficiently real.
"I was just going to bed."
"Dear, you're shivering. You'd better sit down."
"I'd rather stand--close to you."