For a moment they all looked at one another in silence. Then Haddo turned to his servants.
“Go,” he said.
As though frightened out of their wits, they made for the door and with a bustling hurry flung themselves out. A torpid smile crossed his face as he watched them go. Then he moved a step nearer his visitors. His manner had still the insolent urbanity which was customary to him.
“And now, my friends, will you tell me how I can be of service to you?”
“I have come about Margaret’s death,” said Arthur.
Haddo, as was his habit, did not immediately answer. He looked slowly from Arthur to Dr Porhoët, and from Dr Porhoët to Susie. His eyes rested on her hat, and she felt uncomfortably that he was inventing some gibe about it.
“I should have thought this hardly the moment to intrude upon my sorrow,” he said at last. “If you have condolences to offer, I venture to suggest that you might conveniently send them by means of the penny post.”
Arthur frowned.
“Why did you not let me know that she was ill?” he asked.
“Strange as it may seem to you, my worthy friend, it never occurred to me that my wife’s health could be any business of yours.”