"That's what it says," went on the other. "'Regret inform you your mother
died this morning. Superintendent, Horton Asylum.'"
"In an asylum, too," said the girl, speaking at random.
"Yes. Horton is the place for epileptic lunatics, near Epsom, you know."
"I didn't know. Does it mean that--that she was an epileptic lunatic?"
"So I should imagine, from the wording. If a nurse, or a matron, they'd
surely describe her as such."
"I suppose we ought not to discuss Mr. Siddle's telegram," said Doris,
after a pause.
"Well, no. But where's the harm? I wouldn't have yelled out the news if
we three weren't alone. Where's that boy?"
"Gone to his dinner. Father will take it. By the way, say nothing to him
as to the contents. Would you mind calling him?"
Doris hurried swiftly to the sitting-room, and thence upstairs. The
telegraphist explained the absence of a messenger, so Mr. Martin
delivered the telegram in person.
Crossing the street, he detected a dead bee. He picked it up, horrified
at the thought that the Isle of Wight disease might have reached Sussex.
So it was an absent-minded postmaster who handed the telegram over
Siddle's counter, inquiring laconically:
"Is there any answer?"
Siddle opened the buff envelope, and read.
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