"Theo—I've had a letter from Sir John. They're delighted to hear we're coming home."
Desmond started and frowned without changing his position. Only his stillness took on a more rigid quality. It had been natural; now it was forced.
"The old man going on well?" he asked, feeling that some remark was expected of him.
"Yes. He's almost himself again. He and Lady Meredith want us to go straight to Mavins for a week. What do you think?"
This time an answer was imperative; but it stuck in Desmond's throat.
"Very good of them. All the same—I think not," he said slowly; then made a clumsy attempt to modify the blank refusal. "You see, though I've taken this extra leave, I don't mean to spend it in loafing. We've had our fill of that. As soon as I get to town, I shall start reading in earnest for my promotion."
Paul, puzzled and dismayed as he was, could not lightly relinquish his castle in the air.
"I'm glad you feel up to work again, Theo," he said. "But a week in the country wouldn't seriously delay matters; and, in the circumstances, it seems ungracious to refuse. It would cheer the old man up. And it goes without saying that Honor would be glad to see us again."
The last appeal roused Desmond effectually. He jerked himself upright and faced his friend; faced also the ordeal of open speech after months of evasion.