"Of course he will. He's not such a fidget as you are!"
"Glad to hear it; if it means getting you back; and both rooms shall be disinfected to-day, Lord, but it's a weight off my mind!"
And he cantered down to the Lines in such a mood of exaltation as they know who have been privileged to fight for a human life, and win.
Honor got her own way, as she always did; and half-past nine found her back at her deserted post behind the teapot. Desmond fancied that she looked paler than usual; that her cheerfulness was veiled by a shadow of constraint. But as Paul was present, enjoying his first normal breakfast, he contented himself with scrutinising her, when her attention seemed to be taken up elsewhere. As a matter of fact, Honor knew precisely how often he looked at her; and, womanlike, hugged his solicitude to her heart. For there had been moments, in the past two days, when the traitorous thought would obtrude itself that perhaps the child needed her most after all.
Directly the meal was over, she rose, murmuring that she had 'things to see to,' and went out, leaving the men with their cigars. But instead of going to the store cupboard, where the old Khansamah awaited her, armed with his daily hissab,[1] she slipped into the drawing-room, sat down at her bureau, and leaned her head on her hand; honestly hoping that Theo might leave the house without coming to her. For all that, the sound of his elastic step brought a light into her eyes. She did not rise, or look round; and he came and stood beside her.
"Not quite yourself this morning, old lady?" he asked. "Anything really wrong? Fever? Headache?"
She caught the note of anxiety, and with a quick turn of her head kissed the fingers resting on her shoulder.
"No, darling, neither. Don't worry yourself. I'm perfectly well."
"Sure?"
"Quite sure."