The change must be in himself; he demanded of her something more volcanic and inspiring than she could give, something to feed his own languid vitality instead of placidly laying him to rest.…
Shutting the front door, he went back to the drawing-room, where the family was assembled to compare notes and pool information.
"The vicar's starting a class for making bandages.…"
"The Warings haven't heard anything of Jack yet.…"
"That Benyon must be one of the Herefordshire lot, I fancy. An old private bank.…"
Eric hesitated on the threshold, looking from one to another. Sybil was undisguisedly disappointed; she had so desperately set her heart on his marrying her beloved Agnes, and the night's meeting had brought them no nearer. Lady Lane, still anxious, beckoned him into the room and took his face between her hands, turning it to the light and kissing his eyes again, as on his arrival.
"You look tired, Eric. You'd better go to bed, or you'll never be down to breakfast."
"I wasn't thinking seriously of being down to breakfast in any case," he answered with a yawn.
"Oh, don't be late. It makes so much extra work for the maids, if they have to serve several breakfasts and can't get in to do your room."
He smothered an impatient retort and strolled to a table by the fire where Sybil and her father were sipping long tumblers of hot milk, while Geoff gulped home-made lemonade with avid enjoyment.