“And Stella herself? What does she make of it?”
“The only one not upset in the house. That little girl 's an angel, John.” He blew his nose violently. “It appears she was stretching out her arm to pat the old dog's chaps, overreached herself a bit, and mechanically her head came away from the pillow. She called out to nurse, 'Nurse, I 've lifted my head.' Nurse flew up to her. 'What do you mean, darling?' She showed her. She showed her, by God! Nurse forbade her to do it any more, and flew down-stairs like a wildcat to tell us. Then we telephoned to Ransome. He saw her; she did it for him; then he came to us white and shaking all over. Naturally I wanted to see the darling child do it, too. Julia interfered. Stella must n't do it again till Cassilis came. Then we had the words. She said I was eaten through with egotism—I! Now, am I, John?”
Presently Herold dashed, in, aflame with excitement. The story, such as it was, had to be told anew.
“I 'll come with you to Cassilis, and then on to Southcliff.”
“But your rehearsal?” said John.
Herold confounded the rehearsal, even as John had confounded his review. In the presence of this thrilling wonder, trivialities had no place.
Cassilis received this agitated and unusual deputation without a flicker of surprise. He was a baldheaded, prematurely old young man, with great, round spectacles. He gave one the air of an inhuman custodian of awful secrets.
“I presume you have called with reference to this,” said he, indicating a telegram which he held in his hand. “I've just opened it.”
“Yes,” said Sir Oliver. “Is n't it wonderful? You must come down with us at once.”
“It's very inconvenient for me to leave London.”