"I say—is anything the matter?"
"Nothing whatever!" he assured her. "Why?" He bent over his boots.
"I don't know. You're rather glum to-day, aren't you?"
"Not at all," said Roger, with a dignity that was marred by the sudden bursting of his over-tugged bootlace. His ensuing exclamation was vigorous and not inaudible. Alwynne giggled. It is not easy to tie a knot in four-sided leather laces. She watched his struggles without excessive sympathy. Presently a neat twist of twine flicked through space and fell beside him.
"'Just a little bit of string,'" murmured Alwynne flippantly. But getting no thanks, she returned to her letter. Roger fumbled in silence.
"The Dears are late," remarked Alwynne at last, as she folded her sheets.
"No—it's we who are early. I got down early on purpose. I thought you might be, too. I wanted——" he broke off abruptly.
"Yes, I always wake up at daybreak when I'm excited," she said joyously. "Oh, Roger! How I'm looking forward to getting home! Clare says she may meet me—if she feels like it," she beamed.
"Oh!" said Roger.
Alwynne tapped her foot angrily.