"How tiresome, Deryck! It is Myra's reception this evening, and I promised to bring you with me. I shall hate going alone. However, I suppose it cannot be helped. Did you ever see such daffodils? It makes one long to be back in the woods at home."
The doctor hesitated. Downstairs the bell rang again, the hall door opened and closed, Stoddart said, "Step this way, sir."
"Flower," said the doctor, "I have a jolly little plan for to-night. I want you to come to Brighton with me. We will put up at the Metropole and have a real good time. I ought to be able to get back to you there soon after seven, and we can have dinner and go on the pier afterwards and watch the moonlight on the sea. Or, if you prefer something more lively, there is a good concert on in the Dome. I will telephone for seats. It is a long while since we heard any music together."
He stopped rather breathlessly.
The front doorbell rang again.
The doctor's wife took out a daffodil and replaced it to better advantage. Then she looked up with an exquisite smile.
"Dearest, you are so amusing with your sudden plans! It sounds delightful, of course. I love Brighton in spring. I shall never forget driving along the King's Road in the sunshine, with a huge bunch of violets on my muff. It was too heavenly! Early March, and the whole place seemed to sing of how summer was coming! But we cannot always do what we like. I must look in at Myra's party, and I should really have thought you might have got back in time. If you appeared at eleven, it would do."
The doctor's face, against the pale green woodwork of the door, suddenly looked rather worn and thin.
"I am afraid I could not get back, Flower," he said. "I may have to put in a second visit in the morning. And—darling—I want you to-night. This case will be rather a strain. It will be just everything to have you down there to come back to. The moment it is over I shall remember you are waiting for me."
The baby's godmother looked up quietly over the Times. She had heard the tone in his voice and she saw on his face just what she expected to see. Notwithstanding his forty years, despite his brilliant powers, his ceaseless energy, he looked at that minute like a tired child, just needing to be gathered into a loving woman's arms and hushed to rest. He was facing, beforehand, what he would be feeling after the strain was over. He was yearning for the love and companionship, dreading the solitude and loneliness. The baby's godmother knew exactly what he needed. She awaited Flower's reply.