"Yes, father," Eustace said, with a sinking heart.
"It isn't a little thing to do," Mr. Orban went on; "it is one of the big things, for it means self-sacrifice. It is always comforting to oneself to talk things out. You'll have plenty of things to say without mentioning Bob. Tell them about Aunt Dorothy and her queer mistakes—the boxes you have unpacked—Ah, Mrs. Cochrane," he broke off suddenly, looking up to a figure that appeared on the upper veranda, "how do you do? I've just come over to steal your husband for a bit. I hope you won't mind."
Eustace was amazed at the change in his father's tone; it was brisk, cheery, and impossible to suspect.
"But won't you come in?" asked Mrs. Cochrane, who in appearance was something like a little brown robin. "You must be hot and tired."
"Not a bit," Mr. Orban said; "and I'm in such a hurry I must ask you to forgive the rudeness. I want you to do me a favour too, if you will. Keep Eustace the night. I never thought how late I might be going home when I brought him; I want to go back by Gairloch."
"Certainly, I'll keep the dear laddie with pleasure," was the cordial answer, and the kindly look that beamed on Eustace positively hurt him. She looked so happy, and oh, what awful news was there in store for her!
"I may even keep your husband all night," Mr. Orban added. "You won't be scared if he doesn't turn up in good time for bed?"
"Not I," said Mrs. Cochrane. "I know my dear belongings are always safe with you."
Eustace could have cried at the words. "Safe!" and where was Bob whom she pictured so safely at this very minute in the Orbans' house? Mr. Orban did not look up as he said,—
"Don't expect Bob either. Eustace will tell you all about what a merry household we have suddenly become. We've got a witch into it, as Bob calls her. Here comes Cochrane. I hope he won't want an hour to say farewell."