“David Willis is—is upstairs, madam,” said the captain, with the idea of breaking the matter gently to her.
“Well, fetch him down. Gracious, what fools men are!”
“I regret that it is impossible,” said the captain.
“Why? What’s the matter with the man?”
“David Willis is dead.”
“Dead! What on earth are you talking about?” she asked, sharply. She sat down then, still keeping her grip of Comethup’s shoulder and leaning heavily on her stick with the other hand.
“I’m telling you the simple truth,” replied the captain. “David Willis died quite suddenly yesterday.”
She was silent for a moment, and appeared to be ruminating, although there was no expression save that of baffled anger on her great face. Comethup, glancing timidly up at her, saw that above the face, and under her bonnet of many colours, was a great mass of very beautiful snow-white hair. After a moment she spoke again, although her voice was scarcely any more gentle than before.
“Well, this is the last time I’ll come on such a fool’s errand as this,” she exclaimed. “Here I’ve been wandering about since early morning, swearing at porters and wondering all the time why I ever started, and the very man I came to see has died before I could get to him. Why the devil couldn’t he die next week, or a month ago, or any other time? Who are you, sir?” she asked, quite suddenly and fiercely, addressing the captain.
The captain presented himself with some formality, and she nodded at him in acknowledgment. The captain went on to state briefly that he was a friend of the dead man, and had come there that day chiefly on account of the child. She became alert and eager in an instant.