"Of course you'll come, Theo. A sight of her will do us both good. I'm glad I thought of it."
"So am I," Desmond agreed, without a particle of gladness in his level tone. "But—you can leave me out of the programme. One of us is enough—for all that is needed; and it's only right it should be you."
"I don't quite follow the logic of that."
Desmond's set face softened to a smile. "Don't you, old man? Then you must take my word for it."
In spite of that smile Paul heard the note of finality in his friend's voice and said no more.
On the appointed morning he set out alone to meet the ship, pain and elation contending in his heart. But when, at last, he set eyes on Honor Meredith, and saw her whole face lighten at sight of him, complexities were submerged in a flood-tide of simple, human joy.
But the exalted moment was short-lived. He could not fail to see how, instinctively, her glance travelled beyond him; how her lower lip was indrawn for the space of a heart-beat; and when their hands met, he, as instinctively, answered her thought.
"I couldn't persuade Theo to come. He is still difficult to rouse or move. The news of your father did seem to stir him and I am hoping he will write."
She let out her breath unsteadily. "Oh, if he only would! This interminable silence seems—so inhuman. In a way, I understand it; but the others, out there, are getting terribly unhappy over it; John and Frank more than all. You don't think—do you—that there is really any fear——?"