And without any word of protest he obeyed her.
It is strange what a difference the return of a friend may make to life! Laura Pavely felt another woman as she busied herself that afternoon, happily waiting for Oliver Tropenell. Honestly she hoped that Godfrey would come back by the early afternoon train; he, too, would be glad to see Oliver.
But the time went by, and there came no message through from London ordering the car to be sent to the station, and Laura told herself that perhaps Godfrey had gone straight to the Bank.
At last, a little after five, Oliver Tropenell came sauntering in, very much as he used to saunter in, during the long happy summer days when they had just become friends.
They had tea in Alice's day-nursery, and after tea, they all three played games till it was nearly seven. Then, reluctantly, Oliver got up, and said he must go home. And as he stood there, gazing down into her face, Laura was struck, as she had been that morning in the first moment of their meeting, by his look of fatigue and of strain. She, who was so little apt to notice such things, unless her little girl was in question, glanced up at him anxiously. "You don't look well," she said, with some concern. "You don't look as if you'd had a holiday, Oliver."
"I shall soon get all right," he muttered, "now that I'm here, with mother." And then, in a lower voice, he added the words, "and with you, Laura."
She answered, nervously determined to hark back to what had been their old, happy condition, "Alice and I have both missed you dreadfully—haven't we, my darling?"
And Alice said gaily, "Oh yes, indeed, we have, mother." Then the child turned, in her pretty, eager way to Oliver, "I hope you'll stay a long, long time at Freshley. If only it snows, father thinks it may soon, you and I can make a snow man!"
And Oliver, after a moment's pause, answered, "Yes, so we can, Alice. I'm going to stay at home some time now, I hope."