"Upstairs," he answered.
She went towards the door. "I must go and comfort her," she said. "She was ... very fond of ... of Ninian!"
He followed her to the door, afraid that she might break down, but she did not break down. She gathered her skirts about her, and went up the stairs to Mary's room, and her steps were firm and proud. He could hear the rustle of her skirt on the landing as she passed along it out of his sight, and then he heard her knocking on Mary's door.
"Can I come in, Mary?" she asked in a clear voice.
He could hear the door opening ... and then he heard it being closed again.
He stood at the foot of the stairs, listening, but there was no need of him. He turned away, and as he did so, Widger came into the hall. The old man stood for a moment or two without speaking. Then he made a suppliant movement with his trembling hands.
"It b'ain't true!..." he mumbled thickly.
"Yes, Widger," Henry answered, "it is."
The old man turned away. "I knowed 'un ever since 'e were a baby," he said, and his lips were quivering. "Praper li'l chap 'e were, too!
"It b'ain't right," he went on, looking helplessly about him. Then his voice took a firmer, more definite note, "Where's missus to?" he asked.