“Sixty hours to the very minute.”
Lysbeth uttered a little scream of joy and ran forward. Elsa let the book fall on to the floor and rose to do the same, then remembered and stood still, while Dirk remained where he was till the women had done their greetings, betraying his delight only by a quick rubbing of his hands. Adrian alone did not look particularly pleased, not, however, because he retained any special grudge against his brother for his share in the fracas of a few nights before, since, when once his furious gusts of temper had passed, he was no malevolently minded man. Indeed he was glad that Foy had come back safe from his dangerous adventure, only he wished that he would not blunder into the bedroom and interrupt his delightful occupation of listening, while the beautiful Elsa read him romance and poetry.
Since Foy was gone upon his mission, Adrian had been treated with the consideration which he felt to be his due. Even his stepfather had taken the opportunity to mumble some words of regret for what had happened, and to express a hope that nothing more would be said about the matter, while his mother was sympathetic and Elsa most charming and attentive. Now, as he knew well, all this would be changed. Foy, the exuberant, unrefined, plain-spoken, nerve-shaking Foy, would become the centre of attention, and overwhelm them with long stories of very dull exploits, while Martin, that brutal bull of a man who was only fit to draw a cart, would stand behind and play the part of chorus, saying “Ja” and “Neen” at proper intervals. Well, he supposed that he must put up with it, but oh! what a weariness it was.
Another minute, and Foy was wringing him by the hand, saying in his loud voice, “How are you, old fellow? You look as well as possible, what are you lying in this bed for and being fed with pap by the women?”
“For the love of Heaven, Foy,” interrupted Adrian, “stop crushing my fingers and shaking me as though I were a rat. You mean it kindly, I know, but—” and Adrian dropped back upon the pillow, coughed and looked hectic and interesting.
Then both the women fell upon Foy, upbraiding him for his roughness, begging him to remember that if he were not careful he might kill his brother, whose arteries were understood to be in a most precarious condition, till the poor man covered his ears with his hands and waited till he saw their lips stop moving.
“I apologise,” he said. “I won’t touch him, I won’t speak loud near him. Adrian, do you hear?”
“Who could help it?” moaned the prostrate Adrian.
“Cousin Foy,” interrupted Elsa, clasping her hands and looking up into his face with her big brown eyes, “forgive me, but I can wait no longer. Tell me, did you see or hear anything of my father yonder at The Hague?”
“Yes, cousin, I saw him,” answered Foy presently.