“Oh, Mr. Wooster!” said the girl in a gasping sort of way. “I don’t know how to begin.”
Then I noticed that she appeared considerably rattled, and as for the brother, he looked like a sheep with a secret sorrow.
This made me sit up a bit and take notice. I had supposed that this was just a social call, but apparently something had happened to give them a jolt. Though I couldn’t see why they should come to me about it.
“Is anything up?” I said.
“Poor Sidney—it was my fault—I ought never to have let him go there alone,” said the girl. Dashed agitated.
At this point the brother, who after shedding a floppy overcoat and parking his hat on a chair had been standing by wrapped in the silence, gave a little cough, like a sheep caught in the mist on a mountain top.
“The fact is, Mr. Wooster,” he said, “a sad, a