"Very much. Thank you, Yvonne."
The trim little maid replenished the fire, replaced a daffodil fallen from a vase, patted Tylo, gave him a biscuit and vanished as noiselessly as she came.
Left alone, Win began to walk slowly up and down the library, wondering about the matters which were "to arrange themselves." The tools Pierre carried, the direction in which he was walking, to Win's alert mind suggested the Manor cave. Had Max told Pierre to complete clearing away that heap of stones and if so, why?
Never in his life had Win been so tempted to break his word. In spite of the voluntary promise to his mother to do nothing in the least unusual, it seemed as though he must go and see what was taking place in the cave.
"Pierre would help me up," he told himself.
"Yes," came the instant answer, "but Roger gave you all the help he could and yet you were in bed two days and felt ill for a week."
Win thought of questioning Pierre, but abandoned the idea as not quite on the level. A note from Max had come on yesterday's steamer presumably in company with the directions to Pierre. There was not a word in it about the cave and if the writer had wanted Win to know what was going on, he would have told him. No, Win's code of honor would not permit him to find out by asking Pierre. And yet two weeks until Easter!
Win gave a long whistle, looked wistfully down to the sea and again took up his book.
When he returned for luncheon at Rose Villa, he found Roger convulsing
Frances by his account of the morning spent in town with Estelle.
"It's lucky I don't have to do the marketing for this family," he announced. "If you wanted cream now, where would you get it?"