“If that is all, I am not afraid,” he said, gently. “You are sure that is all, Mary?”
“Quite sure,” she replied. Then after a moment’s pause, “How is Miss Cheviott?”
“Pretty well—at least, so I am told,” he replied; “but to me she seems terribly changed. Laurence, her brother, I mean, won’t say much about her. He can’t bear to own it, I fancy. And it is so dull for her. I think that keeps her back—she should have some companionship.” Mary’s face grew very grave. She gave a little sigh. “I wish—” she was beginning to say, when the door opened and her mother came in.
Alys was alone in her room that afternoon, when a tap and the request, “May I come in?” announced her cousin’s return. She knew where he had been, for Laurence had told her everything; but she had not been alone with Arthur since their strange interview two days ago, and the remembrance of it set her heart beating as she called out, “Come in by all means.”
To her surprise, Arthur came quickly up to her sofa, bent down and kissed her on the forehead before he spoke.
“Dear Alys,” he said, “I have come straight to you. It is all thanks to you, and I wanted to tell you, before any one, that everything’s going to be all right.”
For half a second there seemed a catch in Alys’s breath. Then she looked up with a smile, though there were tears in her eyes too.
“I am so glad, so very glad,” she said, softly. “Then has Lilias come back?” she asked.
“No, she is coming the day after to-morrow,” he replied, “and that reminds me—I have a great deal to tell you, Alys, and I am sure it will interest you—on Mary’s account as well as on Lilias’s.”
“I think I know—part of it anyway,” said Alys. “Laurence has been telling me of his letter from Mrs Brabazon—he would not tell you because he thought it would be so much pleasanter for you to know nothing about it till the Westerns told you themselves.”