Denzil had said to his Mother when he knew that Amaryllis was coming to London:
"Mum, I want to see Amaryllis—please arrange it for me. And Mum, don't ask me anything about it; just leave me there when we drive and come and fetch me when I must go in again."
Mrs. Ardayre was a very modern person, but she could not help exclaiming in a half voice while she sat by her son's bed:
"You know she is going to have a baby in a month, dear boy, perhaps she won't care to see you now."
A flush rose to Denzil's forehead: "Yes, I do know," he said a little hurriedly, "but we are not conventional in these days. I wish to see her; please, darling Mother, do what I ask."
And then he had turned the conversation.
So his mother had obediently arranged matters, and at about four in the afternoon left him at the Brook Street door.
Early as it was, Amaryllis had made the tea, and expected to see both Denzil and his mother. The room was full of hyacinths and daffodils, and she herself looked like a spring flower, as she sat on the sofa among the green silk cushions, wrapped in a pale parma violet tea-gown.
The butler announced "Captain Ardayre," and Denzil came in slowly, and murmured "How do you do?"
But as soon as the door was closed upon him, he started forward, forgetting his stiff side.