Miles hesitated an instant. He was about to say Darley, but some happy instinct prompted him to substitute “Morrisey.”
Mr. Darley started.
“Morrisey, you say?” he exclaimed.
A swift change passed over his features. He had dropped his hand from Miles’s shoulders, but now reached forth and caught him by the arm.
“Come with me,” he said quietly, and led him into the back room.
The others looked at one another without speaking. No one thought of the game. The fish lines, tangled up, were lying in the pasteboard pond.
Mrs. Fox had sunk down on the sofa, her head covered with her apron. From the inner room came the subdued sound of voices.
“Do you suppose he has recognized him?” It was Rex who at length broke the silence, and he spoke in an awed whisper.
Nobody made any reply, for footsteps were heard approaching from the rear. It was Miles. His face was handsomer than Rex had ever seen it. It was lighted up with joy.
He came straight to Rex and put a hand on his shoulder, while he leaned over till his chin rested on the other’s head.