She looked at him reproachfully.
“Mr. Thrush!”
“Oh, of course. And is Robin coming to the Cathedral?”
“Yes, for once. It’s a terribly long service for a child, but Robin would break his heart if he didn’t see Mr. Thrush walk in the procession for the first time.”
“Then we won’t tell him till Monday morning. I’ll hire a dog-cart and we can all drive out together.”
Again she gave him the tender look, but she did not then explain what it meant.
That evening they dined with Canon Wilton, who had a surprise in store for them. Esme Darlington had come down to stay with him over Sunday, and to have a glimpse of his dear young friends in Little Cloisters.
The dinner was a delightful one. Mr. Darlington was benignly talkative and full of kindly gossip; Canon Wilton almost beamed upon his guests; after dinner Rosamund sang song after song while the three men listened and looked. She sang her very best for them, and when she was winding a lace shawl about her hair preparatory to the little walk home, Canon Wilton thanked her in a way that brought the blood to her cheeks.
“You’ve made me very happy to-night,” he said finally. And his strong bass voice was softer than usual.
“I’m glad.”