"It's a quarter past seven, Steven."
He rose and stretched himself. They went together to the night nursery where the three children lay in their cots, the little red-haired girls awake and restless, and the dark-haired baby in his first sleep. They bent over them together. Mary's lips touched the red hair and the dark where Steven's lips had been.
They spent the evening sitting by the fire in Rowcliffe's study. The doctor dozed. Mary, silent over her sewing, was the perfect image of tranquillity. From time to time she looked at her husband and smiled as his chin dropped to his breast and recovered itself with a start.
At the stroke of ten she murmured, "Steven, are you ready for bed?"
He rose, stumbling for drowsiness.
As they passed into the square hall he paused and looked round him before putting out the lights.
"Yes" (he yawned). "Ye-hes. I think we shall do very comfortably here for the next seven years."
He was thinking of old Hyslop. He had given him seven years.
LXIV
The next day (it was a Friday), when Mary came home to tea after a round of ineffectual calling she was told that Miss Gwenda was in the drawing-room.