Rokeby wheeled right round to face her, in his swing chair: "I know," he nodded, "at least I know the bare bones of it. He found time to ring me up yesterday and give me an inkling. So you've really sent him off, have you?"
"Yes; this morning, at ten."
Rokeby felt for his words carefully, in view of what he saw in her face.
"It must have been a rush for both of you."
"It was. But things are better like that. There isn't so much time to think."
"No," said Rokeby.
"If I'd known he'd told you, I wouldn't have come round to hinder you this afternoon."
"Don't mention that word again, Mrs. Kerr. I'm proud and delighted. And I didn't hear much yesterday, and I want all of it. What's the whole game?"
She sat there telling him; the fire flushed her face so that its wanness disappeared; and in their wonder and bewilderment her eyes were big and solemn like a child's. But the composure to which she had won was complete.
"It will be a splendid holiday for him," she finished. "He hasn't had one since we were married. Of course, we've been nearly every year to the same rooms at Littlehampton, but with children it's different. You can hardly call it a holiday."