Love and Hatred by Marie Belloc Lowndes

"Well, my dear -- any more news? " But even as Mrs. Tropenell, looking up from her breakfast-table, asked the question, she knew what the answer would be.

It was the following Monday morning. The post had just come in, and at once, knowing that the postman called first at The Chase, Oliver had hurried off to the telephone. He had been there a long time -- perhaps as long as ten minutes -- and when he came back into the dining-room his mother was struck afresh by the look of almost intolerable strain and anxiety in his face and eyes.