It was only after he had allowed them to refresh him with tea in their comfortable drawing-room, that he alluded to the tabooed subject. He lit a cigarette—he could have lit the Queen’s Pipe had he so chosen, for they indulged him greatly—and enquired in what way he could serve them. They looked puzzled for a moment. Then Dora’s countenance cleared.
“Oh—the letter we were going to write to you! No. It wasn’t to ask you for anything. It——”
She looked across at Alicia, who glanced back at her with an air of intelligence and readiness.
“The fact is, dear Hugh,” said the elder, “we have rather unfortunate news to give you. Your Uncle Geoffrey is not very well.”
Though he expressed his sorrow, he smiled at the anti-climax. The dear, fussy sisters!
“In fact, his heart is seriously affected,” continued Alicia, gravely, “and he can’t possibly live very long.”
“The deuce he can’t,” said Hugh, who began to lose sight of the humourous aspect of things. “How do you know?”
“We received a long letter from him this morning, in which he refers to other things besides.”
“You had better let me see it,” said Hugh.
“Would you get it, Dora?” said Alicia, and then, while the younger sister was fetching the document from a secretaire by the window: “I don’t bear malice. I am grieved to hear of Geoffrey Colman’s affliction, and I hope he is prepared to meet his end like a Christian and a gentleman, but I consider his conduct towards you has been simply shameful.”