"I don't think she'd come during service time."
"I'd better not go lest she did," Punch insisted. "I like Lallie."
"I think we all like Lallie," said Tony, and one of the "big boys" sitting on the seat murmured: "And so say all of us," and nudged his comrade.
Letter after letter had come from Lallie deferring her return. First it was that--"there are five hundred little red names to sew on Claude Chester's garments before he returns to Egypt. Mrs. Chester seems to imagine that there's something magical about those names, and that they will in some mysterious fashion prevent Claude losing his clothes, which he does at the rate of about an outfit a year. I should think that the whole of the Egyptian Army is taking a wear out of Claude's vests and things, judging by the amount he takes out and the few and holey garments he brings back. Mrs. Chester says it hurts her eyes to thread needles, and she's a poor old woman with no daughter; and what would I be tearing back to Hamchester for where no one particularly wants me (that's not true, is it?) when I can be of use here? So I really think I'd better stay till the names are all firmly attached, but it won't take long."
Then, after the little red names were all sewed on, Mrs. Chester got an exceedingly bad cold and had to stay in bed; and of course Lallie had to stay on at Pinnels to look after her.
But she was really coming home to-morrow. Tarrant was getting up every day for an hour or two, and it seemed only in keeping with the general pleasantness of things that B. House should already have scored six points to nil.
One thing about Lallie's letter puzzled Tony. She never so much as mentioned Ballinger. If she had given him his congé, this was natural enough and like Lallie; but if not, what did it mean?
At half-past five that evening Sidney Ballinger's card was brought in to him.
He never saw people in the drawing-room if he could possibly help it. He never knew why he hated it so till Lallie commented upon its stiffness. He received Sidney Ballinger in his study.
"Nervous, poor chap," was Tony's mental comment, as his guest came in. He did his best to set him at his ease; supplied him with cigarettes; offered him tea; whisky-and-soda; both refused.