"I haven't smashed up Rupert or myself, so far. If you feel timid, never mind, of course; I'll take my usual companion."
Dick flushed all over his plump face, the Ffrench blood up at last.
"I was only joking," he hastily explained. "I'll come. It's only that you're so confoundedly reckless sometimes, Lestrange, and—But I'll come."
Lestrange gave his fine, glinting smile as he rose to salute Emily.
"All right. If you don't get down to the factory in time, I'll call for you," he promised.
V
here was a change in the Ffrench affairs, a lightening of the atmosphere, a vague quickening and stir of healthful cheer in the days that followed. The somber master of the house met it in Bailey's undisguised elation and pride when they discussed the successful business now taxing the factory's resources, met it yet again in Emily's pretty gaiety and content. But most strikingly was he confronted with an alteration in Dick.