He took up his position between his mother and me, his hands on the mantelpiece, his foot on the fender, and gloomed down upon the hearth.
When the hands of the little clock showed that another half-hour had flown, the door was flung open and Daphne came in.
"Hasn't he come?" she asked. "I thought you were keeping him away from me, downstairs. Hasn't he even come?"
"The train is late," the mother said.
But Daphne was overwrought. She flung herself upon a chair, and twisting herself so that her arms embraced its back and her face was hidden, began to cry hysterically.
"There has been an accident," she sobbed, presently, lifting her head. "Hamley has overturned the dog-cart in the dark; Jack has been pitched out; there is no one to help,—and you all stand here! You all stand here!"
She insisted that her brother should go at once on his bicycle to see what was amiss. Her distress unnerved the boy, and softened him. He lifted her from the chair, and put his arm round her and led her to the door.
"You go to bed, Dapple-ducky," he said, calling her by the name he had given her in childhood. "It's all right, dear. Don't you be a silly. I'll go along at once and fetch him."
His stern resolve was shaken. If Jack Marston had come then he would have relented; I think the marriage would have taken place.
But he did not come. He never came.