Young Wick had stopped eating, and was rolling a bit of bread absently between his thumb and first finger. His fair eyebrows were twisted into an odd frown and his mouth was set.
Mrs. Walbridge rose. "I'm going to see if she is all right," she declared anxiously, but Paul put out a detaining hand.
"Don't, mother, John will look after her. He'll see that she is all right. Don't worry, she is a bit run down, but that is nothing. I think I know something that will put everything straight," he added. "I should have waited for him to tell you himself, but as you are worried he won't mind my telling you now. You know how anxious he has been to get back to Argentina?"
"Yes."
"Well, he had a letter to-night from some big official, saying that they would let him go the moment peace is signed. Peace will certainly be signed this week, and he will get off I should think next week, and I believe—mind you, I don't know, only think—that he is going to ask Grisel to marry him at once and go out with him."
"That's a very good plan," declared Moreton Twiss with all the authority of the doctor, "the sea journey would put her to rights, better than anything in the world. Splendid."
"Did he tell you he was going to suggest this?" Mrs. Walbridge asked in a faltering voice. "Oh, Paul, I don't want her to go so soon."
"Nonsense, mother, you must not be selfish," returned Paul, briskly. "I was very late getting back to-night, and he picked me up at the corner in his car and showed me the letter. He didn't exactly suggest it, in fact, I rather think it was I who asked him if he would not be wanting her to marry him at once under the circumstances, but I'd like to bet £5 on his doing it at this moment out there in the rain."
As he spoke they heard the outside door closing again, and after a moment Barclay came into the dining-room alone.
"Grisel has gone upstairs," he said. "Her head is pretty bad. She may come down later."