“Always that lack of initiative,” he remarked. “A lack of initiative is one of your worst faults, I am afraid, dear Gerald.”
The boy looked up quickly. For a moment it seemed as though he were about to make a fierce reply. He met Mr. Fentolin’s steady gaze, however, and the words died away upon his lips.
“I rather thought,” he said, “of going into Norwich, if you could spare me. Captain Holt has asked me to lunch at the Barracks.”
Mr. Fentolin shook his head gently.
“It is most unfortunate,” he declared. “I have a commission for you later in the day.”
Gerald continued his breakfast in silence. He bent over his plate so that his face was almost invisible. Mr. Fentolin was peeling a peach. A servant entered the room.
“Lieutenant Godfrey, sir,” he announced.
They all looked up. A trim, clean-shaven, hard-featured young man in naval uniform was standing upon the threshold. He bowed to Esther.
“Very sorry to intrude, sir, at this hour of the morning,” he said briskly. “Lieutenant Godfrey, my name. I am flag lieutenant of the Britannia. You can’t see her, but she’s not fifty miles off at this minute. I landed at Sheringham this morning, hired a car and made the best of my way here. Message from the Admiral, sir.”
Mr. Fentolin smiled genially.