The two
men had not met for a long time, and the retired official had been one of
Lord Windlehurst's own best appointments in other days. The Duchess had
the carriage wait in consequence.
The ex-official could hear little, but he had cultivated the habit of
talking constantly and well. There were some voices, however, which he
could hear more distinctly than others, and Lord Windlehurst's was one of
them--clear, well-modulated, and penetrating. Sipping brandy and water,
Lord Windlehurst gave his latest quip. They were all laughing heartily,
when the butler entered the room and said, "Lady Eglington is here, and
wishes to see your Grace."
As the butler left the room, the Duchess turned despairingly to
Windlehurst, who had risen, and was paler than the Duchess. "It has
come," she said, "oh, it has come! I can't face it."
"But it doesn't matter about you facing it," Lord Windlehurst rejoined.
"Go to her and help her, Betty. You know what to do--the one thing."
He took her hand and pressed it.
She dashed the tears from her eyes and drew herself together, while her
brother watched her benevolently.
He had not heard what was said. Betty had always been impulsive, he
thought to himself, and here was some one in trouble--they all came to
her, and kept her poor.
"Go to bed, Dick," the Duchess said to him, and hurried from the room.
She did not hesitate now. Windlehurst had put the matter in the right
way. Her pain was nothing, mere moral cowardice; but Hylda--!
She entered the other room as quickly as rheumatic limbs would permit.
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