"Ralph," he said, "I want a word with you alone. I don't want to be disturbed."
"Shall we go out for a walk then?"
"Right."
Ralph went into the hall, fidgeting his fingers in the umbrella stand in search of his walking stick, did not find it, and paused there indeterminate.
"Now, where did I put that stick?"
"Oh, don't bother, please don't bother; we're only going for a stroll."
"Yes, I know, but if I don't find it now—let me see, perhaps it's in the kitchen." And for the next three minutes everyone seemed to be shouting all over the house: "Mother, have you seen my walking stick?" "Emma, have you seen Mr Ralph's walking stick?" And by the time that the stick was eventually discovered, in the cupboard in Ralph's bedroom, Roland's patience and composure had been shattered.
"Such a fuss about a thing like that," he protested.
"All right, all right; I didn't keep you long. Now, what's it all about?" And there was firmness in his voice which caused Roland a twinge of uneasiness. Ralph had developed since he had gone to Oxford. He was no longer the humble servant of Roland's caprice.
"It's not very easy," said Roland; "I want you to do something for me. I'm going to ask you to do me a great favour. It's about April."