When Charlie reached the tennis-courts, he was, considering the moving scene through which he had passed, wonderfully calm. In fact he was smiling and whistling. Espying Sir Roger Deane, he went and sat down by him.
“Roger,” said he, “I’m going with you and the Bellairs’ to-morrow.”
“I know that.”
“Miss Bellairs wants to go straight through to England without stopping anywhere.”
“She’ll have to want, I expect.”
“And I’ve promised to try and get the General to do what she wants.”
“Have you though?”
“I suppose, Roger, old fellow—you know you’ve great influence with him—I suppose it’s no use asking you to say a word to him?”
“Not a bit.”
“Why?”