"I'm sorry Rutherford's away. Perhaps you'd rather I went back to-night."
"Of course not. I'm glad to see you, and so will Alexander be. And you do him good. He has no friends but you and Janet."
"I'm fond of him," Edward Webb said simply.
Moving in the sure strength that gave meaning to everything she did, she set the table for tea, then stood in the doorway and looked out and up towards the Spiked Crags, shading her eyes.
She turned to him for an instant. "I shan't be long. Will you mind the kettle for me? Tell Alec I've only gone a little way."
A few minutes later he heard Alexander's nailed boots in the passage, saw him enter quickly and look round the room, like a man who takes note of circumstances for the sake of safety.
"Oh, you're there!" They shook hands. "I've been wishing for you," said Alexander.
"Your mother has gone out for a little while. I was to tell you she was not going far."
Alexander leaned against the mantelpiece, and his face was dark with anger. "She'll kill herself, tearing about the place, worrying her life out over him," he said in his monotonous tones. "And I'd as soon see him killed as a rat. Mr. Webb, I hate that man, my father."
"My boy!"