He balanced it in his hand speculatively.
"It is probably a hurry-call from the senator.

I may have to go back to town to-morrow.

I have always hated telegrams." He opened it carelessly and read it.

He read it again, slowly; and Patty, who was nearest to him, saw his face turn gray under the tan and his lips tremble.

He looked from one to the other dumbly, then back at the sheet in his hand.
"Richard!" said Kate, with that quick intuition which leaps across chasms of doubt and arrives definitely.
"My aunt died this afternoon," he said, his voice breaking, for he had not the power to control it.
Nobody moved; a kind of paralysis touched them all.
"She died this afternoon, and I wasn't there." There is something terribly pathetic in a strong man's grief.
"Dick!" John rushed to his side.