She was recalled from her angry thoughts by Cecil’s voice; it was sweet and gentle again now, and no longer vehement.
“Do you know, Sigrid,” she said, “I have great hopes in Roy. He will be home to-night, and he will come to it all like an outsider, and I think, perhaps, he will throw some light on the mystery. I shall meet him at Charing Cross, and as we drive home, will tell him just what happened.”
“Is it to-night he comes home?” said Sigrid, with a depth of relief in her tone. “Oh, how glad I am! But there is Swanhild back again. You wont say anything before her, for we have not mentioned it to her; there seemed no reason why she should be made unhappy, and Frithiof likes to feel that one person is unharmed by his trouble.”
“Yes, one can understand that,” said Cecil. “And Swanhild is such a child, one would like to shelter her from all unhappiness. Are you sure that you don’t mind my staying. Would you not rather be alone to-night?”
“Oh, no, no,” said Sigrid. “Do stay to supper. It will show Frithiof that you do not think any the worse of him for this—it will please him so much.”
They went back to the sitting-room and began to prepare the evening meal; and when, presently, Frithiof returned from his work, the first thing he caught sight of on entering the room was Cecil’s sweet, open-looking face. She was standing by the table arranging flowers, but came forward quickly to greet him. Her color was a little deeper than usual, her hand-clasp a little closer, but otherwise she behaved exactly as if nothing unusual had happened.
“I have most unceremoniously asked myself to supper,” she said, “for I have to meet Roy at half-past eight.”
“It is very good of you to come,” said Frithiof gratefully.
His interview with Carlo Donati had done much for him, and had helped him through a very trying day at the shop, but though he had made a good start and had begun his new life bravely, and borne many disagreeables patiently, yet he was now miserably tired and depressed, just in the mood which craves most for human sympathy.
“Lance sent you this,” she said, handing him the passion-flower and making him smile by repeating the child’s words.