Rose was on her feet, standing between her son and the others. “There isn’t anything more to talk about. He’ll go to the recruiting office to-morrow.”
“Then, my dear, you must come down to Squires with us. We are willing enough to give Cecil another chance, and it’s most important he should spend any leave he may get with us. People will know, then, that there’s no question of casting him off or anything dreadful of that kind. I am sure Sir Thomas agrees with me.”
The doctor saw Rose turn to her son, with a question in her face.
“Please go to Squires, Mummie,” he said to her, still in that uncontrollably quavering voice.
On his last word, the childish name that he did not now very often pronounce, Cecil Aviolet’s stunned apathy suddenly gave way, and he began to cry, in loud, gulping sobs.
“Oh!” cried Lady Aviolet, shocked and disturbed. Instinctively she moved to the door, as though to escape proximity with all that most contravened her every instinct.
Sir Thomas’s exclamation held more of disgust, and less of distress. He, too, moved to the door, and after a second of hesitation, opened it for his wife. The two old people passed out together.
Ford stood stock-still, gazing at his nephew.
His lips parted, as though to speak.
Dr. Lucian laid a most unfaltering grip upon his either shoulder, pushed Ford Aviolet out of the room, and turned the key in the lock.