"Feel very bad this evening, Roy?"
The question took Roy by surprise, and Denham understood his silence. "Never mind," he said. "It's the same with all of us, you know. And there is one comfort for you, that Molly wants you at least as much as you want her. Some people would give a good deal for a like certainty."
Roy tried to explain matters away. "I didn't say—"
"No, I know. Never mind, my boy. Things will mend by and by."
Denham's chair shook as Roy leant against it. He fought his little battle, and Denham waited, racking his brain to think of some occupation for the boy.
"We shall all feel better to-morrow," came presently. "Things cannot look comfortable at first in a strange place. Roy, I wish you would unpack my valise for me—just the things I shall want to-night. It would be a help."
"May I really? Den, aren't you well?"
"Rather done. Yes, I wish you would."
Roy was delighted, and went off at full speed. Outside the door he all but rushed into Lucille's arms. She drew back, and held up something.
"A letter from England, Roy!"