The young man looked back at him soberly. “Yes, sir?”
“Sort of a manager. What do you say?”
For a moment there was perfect silence; next, a general movement; then—Dorothy’s fork fell from her hand and clattered upon a plate.
“Manager,” repeated Heaton.
The older man nodded, and smiled from one to another of the circle. When he came to Dorothy, he saw a face from which petulance and pretence were gone. Her eyes, as they met his, were as childishly honest as Vincenza’s own. And they were shining with tears.
“And while I’m away you could take care of my house, Ned, if—if you weren’t a single man.”
Again, a perfect silence, a silence almost electric. Hal and his mother exchanged a second swift glance. Miss Scott leaned forward. She looked at no one, and spoke with sly triumph.
“Congratulations,” she said.
With Arroyo far behind, and High Court only a white dot upon the brown-grey hills, Austin turned from the car window, took out the round locket and opened it. In his face there was none of the old pain. Instead, he looked with a tender smile upon the pictured face of his wife.