"My dear old boy, you shall not chuck it," he said with smiling decision. "I've never believed in the older generation being a drag on the wheel. And now it's my turn, I must play up. What's life worth without a spice of risk? I took my own—a big one—family or no——"
He broke off—and Roy filled the gap. "You mean—marrying Mother?"
"Yes—just that," he admitted frankly. "The greatest bit of luck in my life. She shared the risk—a bigger one for her. And I'm damned if we'll cheat you of yours. There's a hidden key somewhere that most of us have to find. Yours may be in India—who knows?"
He spoke rapidly, as if anxious to convince himself no less than the boy. And he had his reward.
"Dad—you're simply stunning—you two," Roy said quietly, but with clear conviction.
At that moment the purring of the gong vibrated through the house, and he slipped a hand through his father's arm. "That reminds me—I'm starving hungry! If they're still out, let's be bold, and propitiate the teapot on our own!"
Lady Roscoe was, after all, a benefactor in her own despite. Her meteoric visitation had drawn these two closer together than they had been since schoolroom days.
CHAPTER VII
"Ce que nous quittons c'est une partie de nous même. II faut mourir à une vie, pour entrer dans une autre."—Anatole France.