A taxi had stopped outside the door, and out of it climbed, not Gervase but Brother Joseph of the Order of Sacred Pity, with close-cropped hair, a rough, grey cassock and the thickest boots man ever saw. As she watched him from the window, Jenny felt a lump rise in her throat.
She was going down to meet him when suddenly Doris started up from the bedside.
“Let me go first.”
She brushed past her sister and ran downstairs before anyone could stop her. Jenny hurried after her, for she felt that Doris in her present condition was not a reassuring object to meet the home-comer. But she was too late. Doris flung open the door almost at the same instant as the bell rang.
“Welcome!” she cried hysterically—“Welcome—Sir Gervase Alard!”
§ 25
If Gervase was taken aback at his sister’s appearance, he did not show it by more than a sudden blink.
“My dear Doris,” he said, and taking both her hands he kissed her poor cheek where rouge and tears were mingled—“I met Dr. Mount—and he’s told me,” he said.
“About Peter?”
“Yes.”