So Helen finished her lonely breakfast with thoughts of glad anticipation. Ronnie's return was drawing so near. Only two more breakfasts without him. At the third she would be pouring out his coffee, and hearing him comment on the excellence of Blake's hot buttered toast!
Then, with a happy heart, she went up to the nursery.
Yet—unconsciously—the pang remained.
CHAPTER VII
A FRIEND IN NEED
As Aubrey Treherne, on his way back from despatching the telegram, stood in the general entrance hall, fumbling with the latch-key at the door of his own flat, a tall young man in an ulster dashed up the wide stone stairs, rapidly read the names on the various brass plates, and arrived at Aubrey's just as his door had yielded to persuasion and was admitting him into his own small passage.
"Hullo," said a very British voice. "Do you happen to be Ronald West's wife's cousin?"
Aubrey turned in the doorway, taking stock of his interlocutor. He saw a well-knit, youthful figure, a keen resourceful face, and a pair of exceedingly bright brown eyes, unwavering in the steady penetration of their regard. Already they had taken him in, from top to toe, and were looking past him in a rapid investigation of as much of his flat as could be seen from the doorway.