"Rather," Arthur agreed cheerfully.
"I'll come and mark," Hubert volunteered in much the tone he might have used if he had been offering his services as chief mourner.
Arthur found no difficulty in following Eleanor's advice to sleep well. He lay awake for half an hour or so thinking of her, but after that he slept soundly and his sleep was undisturbed. He did not even remember his dreams when he woke. And he had no sinking of the heart, no sick qualms of anticipation the following morning. His waking thoughts were all of Eleanor, the incident of the necessary interview with old Kenyon appeared to him as no more than one of the many necessary steps that he must take before he could enter the Paradise of his life with her. He was, for the time being, obsessed with a single idea, and his one annoyance was the fact that two and a half hours must elapse before he would see her again.
His uncle misread his evident abstraction when they met in the library after breakfast.
"Worried, Arthur?" he asked in a confidential voice behind the shield of the Times, although there was no one in the room just then but himself and his nephew.
"Worried? Lord, no," Arthur replied frankly. "Quite the contrary."
"All right for you, my boy, but you'll have a rare trouble to make him give up Eleanor," his uncle said.
"He can't keep her if she wants to go," Arthur returned, but Joe Kenyon refused to commit himself any further.
"Oh, well! Wait and see," he said.
Arthur's peace of mind was in no way disturbed by that hint of the possible difficulties ahead of him. His uncle's warning seemed to him nothing more than a symptom of the characteristic Kenyon weakness. They were timid, apprehensive creatures, sapped and enfeebled by their life of comfort and seclusion.