The Ball of Fire by George Randolph Chester

There was something radically wrong with the Fosland household. Gerald's man had for years invariably said: "Good morning, sir; I hope you slept well, sir. " This time he merely said: "Good morning, sir"; and he forgot the salt. What was the matter with the house? With the exception of William's slip, the every morning programme was quite as usual. Gerald arose, had his plunge, his breakfast, read his mail and his paper, went for a canter in the Park, had luncheon at the Papyrus Club, and unless his morning engagement slip had shown him some social duty for the afternoon, he did not see Mrs. Fosland until he came down, from the hands of William, dressed for dinner.

One can readily see that no deviation from this routine confronted Gerald Fosland this morning. He had had his plunge and his breakfast, his mail and his paper laid before him, and yet there was something ghastly about the feel of the house. It was as if some one were dead! Gerald Fosland made as radical a deviation from his daily life as William had done. He left his mail unopened, after a glance at the postmark; he left his paper unread, and he started for his canter in the Park a full half hour early!