He then whispered to Roy:
“There's more behind this than you think. Get rid of these fellows for a little while. I have a lot to say to you.”
“I can not just now,” Roy whispered back. “You see they are in a way my guests for the present. To send them away would not only offend, but it would be very unkind.”
“Very well then; as soon as you can be alone in the yard this morning?”
“All right.”
Garrett then joined in the general conversation around the breakfast table. Roy was much puzzled. He could not understand Andrew at all. Never during the whole time that Garrett had been with him at St. Cuthbert's had he acted in so cousinly a manner. Roy wondered whether the change had been brought about by Ethel's death. Yet unless Andrew was playing a much deeper game than his cousin gave him credit for being able to play, his advances—for they were in Roy's estimation distinct advances—were genuine. He gave up the problem as too hard of solution—and waited.
His cogitations were soon cut short. The physician came down stairs from his morning visit to the injured boy.
“No, I do not think the boy will die,” they heard him remark to the infirmarian, “I am sure he will not, although he thinks he is going to. He'll be all right in a few weeks. What? I told you last night—two ribs and his arm.”
“Can he see any one?”asked the infirmarian.