The girls gave her, both together, an indignant look; and then they turned and went out of the room, moving in one step, like one creature, with a soft sweep as of wings. So at least Geoffrey thought, looking after them with the tenderest pity in his eyes. They did not walk but disappeared, flying to be alone and get some comfort from their tears. “What does the telegram say--who sends it--is it long or short--is it from the mother herself, is it--?” Miss Anna put out her hand and tried to take it from Geoff. Both the ladies were full of curiosity. Mrs Underwood, indeed, in sympathy with the trouble of the girls, dried her eyes as she looked up eagerly for news--but Miss Anna owned no trace of tears. She was full of interest and keen curiosity. “Give it me. The very wording of it will tell us something more about them,” she cried. Geoff’s first movement was to hurry away, carrying this communication with him; but he paused as a new idea took possession of him. He was too good a man to be altogether a free agent. He paused, and looked at the mother upon whom he knew he was about to inflict a great blow. She was not a wise woman, and the instinct of curiosity which had possession of her at the moment was not one to please that critical faculty which is so exaggerated in youth. He did not like to see in her eyes even a shadow of the hungry appetite for news which burned in her sister’s. Nevertheless, he read the telegram slowly. “Your terrible news just received. Mother utterly prostrated. Wire if wish me to come for you--otherwise return first ship.” The name of the sender was a strange one--it was evidently an uncle or some relation who could speak with authority. Geoff paid no attention to what the ladies said, but went on. “Mother, I am going to say something which will vex you. You must try to remember that I am old enough to take care of myself. I am going with them, to take them to their mother.” “Geoff--Geoff--by sea!--to America!” Mrs Underwood gasped; she could not get her breath. “Of course it must be by sea if he goes to America,” said Miss Anna. “There is no land passage invented yet.” “It is my plain duty,” said Geoff, colouring a little, “if, as I believe, they are our near relations; and in any case there is a question between us which they are too young in their generosity to settle. We cannot take advantage of the generosity of two children, mother----” “Oh, Geoff! but for you to go--to go to America--a long voyage, and at this time of the year----” “The equinoctials coming on,” put in Miss Anna quickly. “The equin----, yes; nothing but storms and shipwrecks, and every kind of danger. If you mean me never to have a night’s rest more--to go distracted every wind that blows--to have neither peace nor comfort of my life! Oh, Geoff! all that, for them that you never had seen a fortnight ago! and me, your mother, that have never had another thought but you for eight-and-twenty years----”