“Well, really, Cyril dear,” she said impatiently, “how you men do fuss about every little ache and pain. What would you say if we gave up our work for as little reason as that?”
“I should say you had the wisdom of the serpent and the harmlessness of the dove,” he replied. “It wouldn’t matter a row of beans.” He went off to his room.
“When are we going to see those two to say good-bye?” he asked that evening after dinner.
“They will be coming for a night next week when they take Ivor to the Vachells’,” said Susie.
“I still don’t understand why he is being sent there instead of coming to us,” he observed.
Susie made a little face. “It is just Evan,” she said. “He thinks we are not to be trusted with children. Of course I couldn’t insist.”
“It is very unlike you, Sue, to hand over one of your brood without a murmur. Does Evangeline want him to go there?”
“Certainly not,” said Susie unguardedly.
“Well then, I bet he won’t be there long,” said Cyril. Susie began to wonder whether this might not be a golden opportunity put into her hands.
“If you think it best too, dear, I am not sure it mightn’t be the wisest thing to move him here after a little while,” she said. Cyril looked at her speculatively, but said nothing at the time. When Evangeline arrived he noticed a great alteration in her. She had lost her easy-going acceptance of everything that was said and done. She seemed anxious and analytical, on the look out for traps, chary of expressing an opinion. She had said good-bye to Ivor, she told them, and Evan had stayed behind to settle a few last details with Mrs. Vachell. She said all this with so much nervousness and lack of interest, as if repeating a lesson, that Cyril wondered more and more. He thought again of the box that had arrived, of Susie’s embarrassment, and her anger at his unexpected return. When she went in the afternoon to pay her fortnightly visit to a women’s hospital Cyril asked: