“You meant well,” confessed Terence—“you always do—but if I were you I should say no more about it. Compton may be rather annoyed when he finds all his trouble was due to a howling bloomer.”
He beckoned gravely, turned, and began to move down the corridor followed by his train.
At last Rouse spoke.
“Tell me,” said he, “who is your friend—the friend you so very kindly brought? I should like to kick somebody, and it might as well be him.”
“It’s the kid called Carr,” said Terence over his shoulder. “He seems rather a decent kid, so I told him to come along and be introduced to Henry and eat some cake in his new study. He waits within.”
“Waits within?” repeated Rouse. “If he takes my advice he’ll wait without. It’ll get him used to the idea that he’ll have to go without.”
“As a matter of fact he’s minding the kettle.”
“Kettle, indeed? Is there going to be a dish of tea then?”
“Yes, of course there is. I’ve been getting it ready.”
“You’ve fixed up a sort of christening breakfast, have you?”