Peter shook his head. “God knows,” he said gruffly. For a moment there was silence, then with a sigh Miss Craven moved towards a bell.
“You'll stay for tea?”
“Thanks, no. I've got a man coming over, I'll have to go. Give my love to Gillian and tell her I shall not, forgive her soon for deserting me this morning. Has she lost that nasty cough yet?”
“Almost. I didn't want her to go to the Horringfords, but she promised to be careful.” Miss Craven paused, then:
“What did we do without Gillian, Peter?” she said with an odd little laugh.
“'You've got me guessing,' as Atherton says. She's a witch, bless her!” he replied, holding out his hands. Miss Craven took them and held them for a moment.
“You're the best pal I ever had, Peter,” she said unsteadily, “and you've given all your life to us Cravens.”
The sudden gripping of his hands was painful, then he bent his head and unexpectedly put his lips to the fingers he held so closely.
“I'm always here—when you want me,” he said huskily, and was gone.
Miss Craven stood still looking after him with a curious smile.