"I'm afraid we were making an awful din," he said, apologetically. "We got ragging over the dessert and Mrs. Rose stole my grapes——?"
"Oh, you fibber!" Toni was not going to stand that. "They were mine, and you took them off my plate when I wasn't looking!"
"I'm afraid they aren't much good to anyone now," said Owen with a smile. "They are pretty well squashed, Toni, and I fancy your frock's got the worst of the encounter!"
"Well, it's only my tennis-frock," said Toni, her first involuntary qualms driven away by the friendly sound in Owen's voice. "We'll go back and finish now. You'll come, Owen? I'll tell Maggie to bring back the food."
"No, don't bother." He spoke quietly. "I'll go and brush off some of the London dust while you and your friends finish your supper. I'll have a bite later on. Don't worry about me." He turned to the boy. "I'm afraid we're in for a storm. I felt a few drops as I came up the drive."
Somewhat reluctantly, Toni left her husband and returned to the dining-room, where the Tobies anxiously awaited her coming. They had practically finished their meal, and a few moments later rose from the table and went into the drawing-room, where Toni presently excused herself and went in search of her husband.
She found him in the library, where Andrew had just brought him a slender repast; and even the unobservant Toni was struck by the look of fatigue which brooded over his face as he sat poring over some closely-written sheets.
"Owen, I'm sure you ought not to do that now. Do leave it till to-morrow and come and listen to some music in the drawing-room instead."
She laid one small hand on the sheets as though to wrest them from his grasp; but he lifted her fingers aside with a rather weary gesture.
"No, dear, I can't leave this." His voice was flat and toneless. "I've promised to send it off the first thing to-morrow morning, and there's a lot to be done yet."