This letter arrived at Hammerton by the evening post. Mr. Whately had that morning received a letter from Roland, written before the row, with an account of a house game in which he had made 59 runs and taken 3 wickets. Mr. Whately was most excited.
“He’s really doing remarkably well,” he said, after dinner. “He says that he’s pretty certain for his second XI. colors, and I can’t think why they don’t give him a trial for the first. I know that Fernhurst have a pretty strong side this year, but they ought to try all the men they’ve got.”
“He ought to get in next year at any rate,” said his wife.
“Next year! Of course there should be no doubt about that at all. But I should like to see him get in this. It will make a big difference to his last term if he knows he’s safe for his place. It’s always a little worrying having to play for one’s colors, and I should like him to have a really good last term. He’s deserved it; he’s worked hard; he’s been a real success at Fernhurst.”
His soliloquy was at this point interrupted by the double knock of the postman. Mr. Whately jumped up at once.
“The Fernhurst postmark, my dear,” he said. “I wonder what this can be about. The headmaster’s writing!”
He tore open the envelope eagerly and began to read.
He said nothing, but handed the letter across to her. She read it through and then sat forward in her chair, her hands lying on her knees.
“Poor darling,” she said. “So that’s why he saw so little of April last holidays.”