"Perhaps he took what old Nannie used to call a 'scunner' to us. It's not so surprising, in a way, as the fact that he ran away in the first place. The urge to put Latchetts behind him must have been overwhelming."
"Yes. I suppose so. But he was such a kind person: Pat. And so fond of us all. He mightn't have wanted to come back, but you would have thought he'd want to let us know that he was safe."
Since this was her own private stumbling-block, Bee had no help to offer.
"It must have been difficult to come back," Eleanor said, running the comb through her brush. "He looked so tired to-night that he looked like a dead man. It's not a very lively face at the best of times, is it? If you chopped it off behind the ears and hung it on a wall, no one would know the difference."
Bee knew Eleanor well enough, and agreed with her sufficiently, to translate this successfully.
"You don't think he'll want to sheer off again once the excitement of coming home has worn off?"
"Oh, no, I'm quite sure he won't."
"You think he is here for keeps?"
"Of course I do."
But Brat, standing in the dark before the open window of his room and looking at the curve of the down in the wet starlight, was wondering about that very matter. The thing had succeeded beyond Loding's most extravagant promises, and now?