“Yes,” said Charley moodily, and with the veins in his forehead swelling.
“He asks me to try and mediate—to try and make you think less angrily of him.”
“Where is he?” said Charley abruptly.
“I do not know,” said Laura. “Somewhere in the west of England. The postmark is Plymouth.”
“Laura,” said Charley sternly, “I cannot forgive him. Max and I must never meet! Don’t look so serious—I cannot help it. I am, I know, hard and unrelenting—But there, no tears! Why, you are trembling. I am not angry.”
“No, no; I know you are not,” she whispered, nestling closer to him. “You must not be. I shall be so glad to get down to the old place again.”
“And I as well,” said Charley.
And, probably in deference to their wishes, both families started on the following day for their country seats.