CHAPTER II
BREAKING BAD NEWS
It was one of Aileen Macleod's whims that she liked to brew her own tea. A copper kettle bubbled busily over a spirit lamp on the tray as they entered the drawing-room, and her husband flung himself into an arm-chair and watched the slim, beautiful hands busy with the silver tea-caddy and the quaint, squat teapot. Neither spoke until she came to his side with his cup.
"I beg your pardon, dear," he said, trying to rise. She kept him back, a hand on his shoulder.
"You've been working: why shouldn't I bring you your tea?" she said, smiling at him.
"Because I ought to be looking after you," he rejoined. He was on his feet with a quick movement, took her by the shoulders laughingly, and put her into a big chair, bringing tea and hot cakes to a tiny table beside her.
"There!" he said. "No: you want another cushion. Now lie back, sweetheart, and rest; you're ever so much more tired than you'll admit, even to yourself."
"Being tired doesn't matter, now," she said. "Nothing matters, now that Garth is safe. But it's nice to be bullied." She smiled at him, with a little restful movement, then took up her cup. Over it she looked at him questioningly.
"Dr. Metcalfe is quite satisfied, Tom? What were you and he talking about for so long?"
"Oh, he's quite satisfied with the boy's progress," Macleod answered. "He says you and he can go away quite soon. We—we were just yarning." Something tied his tongue; she looked so tired, and yet so peaceful. He would not tell her just yet.