CHAPTER XXII—ANGEL AND BEAR
“Enough of science and of art!
Close up those barren leaves,
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.”—Wordsworth.
A telegram had been handed to Mr. Mayor, which he kept to himself, smiling over it, and he—at least—was not taken utterly by surprise at the sight of a tall handsome man, who stepped forward with something like a shout.
“Angel! Lance! Why, is it Robin, too?”
“Bear, Bear, old Bear, how did you come?”
“I couldn’t stop when I heard at Clipstone that Angel was here, so I left Phyllis and the kid with her mother. Oh, Angel, Angel, to meet at Bexley after all!”
They clung together almost as they had done when they were the riotous elements of the household, while Lance opened the front door, and Robina, mindful of appearances, impelled them into the hall, Bernard exclaiming, “Pratt’s room! Whose teeth is it?”
“Don’t you want Wilmet to hold your hands and make you open your mouth?” said Lance, laughing.
Gertrude, who had already received the Indian arrival, met Angela, who was bounding up to see to her charge, with, “Not come in yet! She is gone out with the children quite happily, with Awdrey’s doll in her arms. Come and enjoy each other in peace.”
“In the office, please,” said Angela. “That is home. We shall be our four old selves.”