“Some time to-day. Late perhaps, he thought.”
Dennis’s sun was very certainly clouded, but sufficient brightness remained to illuminate a pleasant day. There was a bathe before lunch, and Violet took him to play golf, after a slight demur over the chance of his father arriving during their absence, and there was tea on the terrace, and a stroll through the woods with his gun. All these things had been rapturous in anticipation, and though nothing could quite rob them of their honey, it was not of that transcendent order.... Well did Violet understand that, and well she understood why Colin had suddenly settled to go up to town that day. Then came dinner, where his place was laid but unoccupied, and old Lady Yardley groping in the twilight which was darkening round her, now thinking that this was Colin back from school, now asking where Colin was.
But still he did not come, and about eleven Dennis, visibly perturbed and depressed, and his mother went up to bed.
“And you’re sure he hasn’t had an accident?” he asked.
“Yes, darling, quite sure. You mustn’t think of that.”
A bright idea struck Dennis.
“Oh, Mother, somebody must sit up for him to let him in,” he said. “Mayn’t I?”
“No, dear. I know he wouldn’t wish you to. Go to bed, darling, and get a long night. You were up early enough to-day.”
Dennis sighed.
“Well, I’ve had a ripping day with you, anyhow,” he said.