"I am well."
She took his cup of tea to him and placed it within reach of the uninjured arm. His stiffened shoulder still prevented free use of the other.
"The monsoon will be breaking soon," dreamily twisting a floating curl round his finger as she stooped, "Shall we remain on here and beset the even tenor of Jelly's existence with a similar problem to his bigmatical ones?"
"Cyprian. He is a little saint!"
"I know it. You are both saints, and I eye the haloes with envy, but not much hope. I want you, as well as your halo."
"Take!" said Ferlie. But she went back to her chair and sat looking at John chasing Thu Daw across the clearing.
He followed their flight and then said, "We can't stay. 'Unto each his mother beach, bloom and bird and land.'"
"That's true," agreed Ferlie, and rolled Thu Daw's ball back to him from under her chair.
"What will we do about it, Cyprian?"
"What indeed? John's future is clear. Winchester, I suppose, and Oxford, and so to Black Towers, finally. You are right to remind me where the greater responsibility lies. At an English school, would he find himself out of it? Would they take him?"