"Come!" she beckoned to him.
He came and stood beside her looking down at the bandaged head and pale unconscious face. The deadly pallor of yesterday had passed. A slight colour had come to the cheeks, driving away the blue shadows.
Tears filled the boy's eyes as he looked, and his mother loved him for the sensibility.
She went out with him into the corridor to speak. There was so much she had to tell him that could not be told in a moment or two.
"I shall be off duty by three o'clock," she said. "Can you wait till then?"
"I suppose I couldn't … they wouldn't want me at Inch? I have written to Stella and she has not answered."
"She has not been very well. I will tell you about it. Only be patient, dear boy. I must not stay away from your father too long."
"Very well," he said resignedly. "I'll take out Shot and we'll pot at rabbits—a long way from the house, darling. It's good to be here, anyhow."
"It's good to have you," she said gratefully.
He had not taken up what she said about Stella's not being well, and she was glad of that. Stella had not been at her best when he left. She might have alarmed him and set him to asking questions which she would have found it difficult to parry.