"And you think there is the smallest chance?" Jack said incredulously.
"I cannot tell. There is no certainty, none! But until I hear from my friend, I will not give up hope. You will not say one word to the Colonel or to Mrs. Baron—least of all to Captain Ivor?"
"Trust me! Never do to raise his hopes for nothing." Jack himself had not the least expectation of success.
As a matter of course, Jack had taken up his abode under the same roof with the Barons. Roy's former room was given to him, and he made a markedly cheerful addition to the family circle.
Some ten days later they were one evening all together, after dinner. Jack was dictating a letter to Molly, having pressed Lucille into his service as amanuensis. The Colonel was reading; his wife was working; and Denham for an hour past had not stirred or spoken. They all knew what this meant, and mercifully left him alone. Jack's glance wandered often towards the motionless figure in the sofa-corner, and in the midst of his dictation he paused to murmur, "Head as bad as ever?"
"Oui," Lucille said with a sigh. "All day; and now he is quite 'done.' It is always so. What am I to write next? Ah—I am called. Somebody wants a word. Will you excuse me?"
Jack amused himself during her absence by scrawling caricatures with his left hand upon the unfinished sheet. Then Lucille came swiftly in, running, as if with joy; while her eyes were full of tears. Her face seemed to shine, and a suppressed sob could be heard in her voice, as she panted—
"Something for Captain Ivor!"
Denham looked up slowly as she came to his side, and though he received the packet from her hand, he would have put it aside without attention.
"Ouvrez-le! Ouvrez-le, vîte!" she urged impatiently.