Irresolute, he strolled into the old garden. What a catastrophe had he brought by his news! Better, perhaps, if he had wired.
Still, he must go through with it. He could not study the feelings of the poor girl when larger issues were at stake.
Presently he saw the butler coming towards him.
The old man was bent, and he had been crying.
“My mistress is too upset to see you, sir,” he said; “but I was to ask you to make yourself at home. And would you like some refreshment?”
“Thank you,” he replied. “I have had breakfast. I do not need anything. You have heard the sad news.”
“Yes, sir, the papers have come, and the post. They all know now,” and he broke down.
“Come, come, man,” said Collins almost roughly. “It’s all right for women to cry.”
“I had known him for twenty-five years, sir,” said the old man simply, “and I wish it had been me instead of him. Do you think they will catch the murderer?”
“Surely,” said Collins. “But perhaps I had better go.”