"Oh, not at all." He pressed the release button. "Come on in."
Immediately, the little hound leaped out of the princely arms and came dashing into the study and around the desk, jumping onto his lap. The boy followed more slowly, sitting down in the deskside chair and drawing his foot up under him. Paul greeted Snooks first—people can wait, but for little dogs everything has to be right now—and rummaged in a drawer until he found some wafers, holding one for Snooks to nibble. Then he became aware that his son was wearing leather shorts and tall buskins.
"Going out somewhere?" he asked, a trifle enviously.
"Up in the mountains, for a picnic. Olva's going along."
And his tutor, and his esquire, and Olva's companion-lady, and a dozen Thoran riflemen, of course, and they'd be in continuous screen-contact with the Palace.
"That ought to be a lot of fun. Did you get all your lessons done?"
"Physics and math and galactiography," Rodrik told him. "And Professor Guilsan's going to give me and Olva our history after lunch."
They talked about lessons, and about the picnic. Of course, Snooks was going on the picnic, too. It was evident, though, that Rodrik had something else on his mind. After a while, he came out with it.
"Father, you know I've been a little afraid, lately," he said.
"Well, tell me about it, son. It isn't anything about you and Olva, is it?"