Bobby nodded. "Glenfallon's shut up."
"But they can't be gone for good. Can they?" Lady McIntyre turned to Miss Greta.
"How should I know?" The answer came a trifle too quickly.
Sir William got into the car. Napier followed him. He leaned over the slammed door. "When do you say they went?" he asked Bobby.
"Late last night. Bag and baggage."
CHAPTER VII
Those were the days when all thoughts turned to the fleet. The expected leave of Jim McIntyre, and of many a sailor son, had been cancelled. Terrible and glorious things were happening in the element ruled by Britannia. Only the stern discretion of the Admiralty prevented detailed knowledge. Maintenance of this self-denying ordinance on the part of the authorities could not prevent the rumors, which ran about, of a decisive naval engagement. Lady McIntyre, lying awake at night, distinctly heard the boom of guns off the Dogger Bank. Her beloved Jim (God keep him!) was crumpling up the Germans in the North Sea.
It was something to have Colin home from Aldershot and Neil from Shorncliffe. The fact that the two young soldiers were granted leave because they were going off on active service was hidden from their mother.
The knowledge brought Sir William post-haste from London. His proud eyes went from the natty-looking Neil, to the taller, elder soldier with the ugly, honest face. The father's gaze rested longest there. "If you knew the trouble I had—I sha'n't try it again. This place is too far away at such a time."