“My dear, how do I know?” he protested. “I’ve only had glimpses of him in the last year or two, as you know.”
“He’s much better than he used to be,” she repeated wistfully. Then her essential capacity for facing facts asserted itself.
“But it’s never really possible to know the whole truth about what goes on inside other people’s minds, is it, unless they choose to tell one?”
“Not always then,” said the doctor.
Inwardly, he wondered whether Cecil had impulsively enlisted already, but he saw that the possibility had not occurred to Rose.
“I’ll go to-morrow,” he promised her, “and if Cecil takes my advice, he’ll tell Sir Thomas exactly why he wants money, and how much. He’ll probably get it, and his commission into the bargain. You are prepared for that, Rose?”
“Of course I am.”
She spoke proudly, and Lucian’s heart ached for her.
“What are you going to do yourself, Rose?”
“I don’t know yet. I’ve been waiting to hear from Cecil. As soon as it’s settled about him, I can find something to do. It won’t be sitting about at Squires, knitting, anyway. I suppose that’s what poor Diana will end by doing, though Lady Aviolet did write something about Red Cross classes.”