“A paralytic stroke, Sir. When her ladyship telegraphed to you in Scotland the doctors had given his lordship up.”
“Is my mother at home?”
“Her ladyship is at home to you,, Sir.”’
The butler laid a special emphasis on the personal pronoun. Julius turned to his brother. The change for the better in the state of Lord Holchester’s health made Geoffrey’s position, at that moment, an embarrassing one. He had been positively forbidden to enter the house. His one excuse for setting that prohibitory sentence at defiance rested on the assumption that his father was actually dying. As matters now stood, Lord Holchester’s order remained in full force. The under-servants in the hall (charged to obey that order as they valued their places) looked from “Mr. Geoffrey” to the butler, The butler looked from “Mr. Geoffrey” to “Mr. Julius.” Julius looked at his brother. There was an awkward pause. The position of the second son was the position of a wild beast in the house—a creature to be got rid of, without risk to yourself, if you only knew how.
Geoffrey spoke, and solved the problem
“Open the door, one of you fellows,” he said to the footmen. “I’m off.”
“Wait a minute,” interposed his brother. “It will be a sad disappointment to my mother to know that you have been here, and gone away again without seeing her. These are no ordinary circumstances, Geoffrey. Come up stairs with me—I’ll take it on myself.”
“I’m blessed if I take it on myself!” returned Geoffrey. “Open the door!”
“Wait here, at any rate,” pleaded Julius, “till I can send you down a message.”
“Send your message to Nagle’s Hotel. I’m at home at Nagle’s—I’m not at home here.”