‘Of—of Mrs Brownrigg, sir,’ stammered the wretched Perry helplessly.
Henry Brownrigg froze. The blood congealed in his face and his eyes seemed to sink into his head.
Young Perry, who realized he had said the wrong thing, and who had a natural delicacy which revolted at prying into another’s sorrow, mistook his employer’s symptoms for acute embarrassment.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said again. ‘I was really trying to help. I’m a bit—er—windy myself, sir. Mrs Brownrigg’s been very kind to me. I’m sorry she’s so ill.’
A great sigh escaped Henry Brownrigg.
‘That’s all right, my boy,’ he said, with a gentleness his assistant had never before heard in his tone. ‘I’m a bit rattled myself, too. You can go now. I’ll see to these few things.’
Young Perry sped off, happy to be free on such a sunny evenin
