There was a sparkle of merriment in her eyes when she entered the dining-room. The engrossing work of the morning had done her good. She was fully five minutes late, and Bertrand, who had presented himself sharp on the hour with military punctuality, was waiting by the window.
He came swiftly to meet her. She had not seen him before that day.
"You are looking well this morning," he said, in his quick, friendly way.
"You have been busy, yes?"
His soft eyes interrogated her, as for an instant he held her hand. Never once had she found those eyes impossible to meet. They held the fidelity of unswerving friendship.
"Oh yes," she said, "busy in a fashion—a very childish fashion, Bertie.
Noel and I are making fireworks!"
"Fireworks!" he echoed.
"Yes, we are going to have a grand display tonight. Will you come and look on?"
He smiled. "But yes," he said. "I think that I will come and take care of you."
She nodded. "Do! But they are not dangerous, not very. Where is Aunt
Philippa?"
He spread out his hands whimsically. "She has not given me her confidence."