“I almost thought,” said Leroux, “that you had deserted me.”
“No,” said Helen, seeming to speak with an effort—“we—my father, thought—that you needed quiet.”
Denise Ryland nodded grimly.
“But now,” she said, in her most truculent manner, “we are going to... drag you out of... your morbid... self... for a change... which you need... if ever a man... needed it.”
“I have just prescribed a drive,” said Dr. Cumberly, turning to them, “for to-morrow morning; with lunch at Richmond and a walk across the park, rejoining the car at the Bushey Gate, and so home to tea.”
Henry Leroux looked eagerly at Helen in silent appeal. He seemed to fear that she would refuse.
“Do you mean that you have included us in the prescription, father?” she asked.
“Certainly; you are an essential part of it.”
“It will be fine,” said the girl quietly; “I shall enjoy it.”
“Ah!” said Leroux, with a faint note of contentment in his voice; and he reseated himself.