“What’s that? What are you finding fault with your godson about, Hubert?” laughed Olive, who was crossing the hall as they entered, and caught the last words.
“I’m not abusing him. I’m giving him my benediction. Ask Roland.”
“Fact, Olive,” supported the latter. “But Hubert is leaving us to-morrow. He’s off to Australia the day after.”
“No. But where’s the hurry. Short notice, isn’t it?”
And then she tried to prevail upon him to put off his departure.
“Can’t do it, dear,” he answered, greatly pleased. “As I said just now, I’m getting soft here. And I’ve been accustomed of late to make all my moves at short notice.”
“Where’s Roy?” said Roland suddenly. “The rascal seems to have deserted me in these days.”
“Roy, indeed? You haven’t asked after your son and heir, I notice,” said Olive, in feigned indignation.
“H’m! Seniores priores. Roy is a much older friend,” returned Roland. “Moreover, he is an intelligent animal, whereas the other is not—as yet.”
“You hard-hearted, unnatural parent. But—here he is.”