“I’m sorry, sir,” said Peter. “I’ve been making a fool of myself. I thought better of it. I got out of the train at Standon and walked back here.”
“What does it mean, Peter?” said Oswald.
Peter’s eyes were the most distressed eyes he had ever seen. “If you’d just not ask, sir, now——”
It is a good thing to deal with one’s own blood in a crisis. Oswald, resting thoughtfully on his crutches, leapt to a kind of understanding.
“I’m going to hop down towards the village, Peter,” said Oswald, becoming casual in his manner. “I want some exercise.... If you’ll tell every one you’re back.”
He indicated the house behind him by a movement of his head.
Peter was badly blown with haste and emotion. “Thank you, sir,” he said shortly.
Oswald stepped past him and stared down the road.
“Mrs. Moxton’s in the house,” he said without looking at Peter again. “Joan’s up the garden. See you when I get back, Peter.... Glad you’ve got another week, anyhow.... So long....”
He left Peter standing in the gateway.