“Oh, yes. Rupert, you see, as patron of the Eagles was able to get the very best. But won't you come in and see mother? She is really quite worked up over it, though of course she couldn't bear to go.”
Captain Jack checked the refusal on his lips.
“Yes, I will go in for a few minutes,” he said gravely. “No! Your mother would not—could not come, of course.”
There flashed before his mind a picture from pre-war days. The rink packed with wildly excited throngs and in a certain reserved section midway down the side the Templeton-Maitland party with its distinguished looking men and beautiful women following with eager faces and shining eyes the fortunes of their sons in the fight before them. The flash of that picture was like a hand of ice upon his heart as Captain Jack entered the cosy living room.
“Here he is, Mamma!” cried Patricia as she ushered her hero into the room with a sweeping gesture. “And he brings the most cheering news. They are going to win!”
“But how delightful!” exclaimed Adrien coming from the piano where she had been playing, with Rupert Stillwell turning her music for her.
“I suppose upon the best authority,” said Stillwell, grinning at Patricia.
“We are so glad you found time to run in,” said Mrs. Templeton. “You must have a great deal to say to your team on the last afternoon.”
“I'm glad I came too, now,” said Captain Jack, holding the fragile hand in his and patting it gently. “I am afraid Patricia is responsible for my coming in. I don't really believe I could have ventured on my own.”
A silence fell on the company which none of them seemed able to break. Other days were hard upon them. In this very room it was that that other seven were wont to meet for their afternoon tea before their great matches.