It was odd, Robert thought, looking round the table, that this family party-so gay, so warm, so secure-should be occasioned by the dire need of two helpless women in that dark silent house set down among the endless fields.
He went to bed with the warm aura of the party still round him, but in his heart a chill anxiety and an ache. Were they asleep out there at The Franchise? How much sleep had they had lately?
He lay long awake, and wakened early; listening to the Sunday morning silence. Hoping that it would be a good day-The Franchise looked its worst in rain, when its dirty-white became almost grey-and that whatever Marion made for lunch would "stand up." Just before eight o'clock a car came in from the country and stopped below the window, and someone whistled a soft bugle call. A company call, it was. B Company. Stanley, presumably. He got up and put his head out of the window.
Stanley, hatless as usual-he had never seen Stanley in any kind of head covering-was sitting in the car regarding him with tolerant benevolence.
"You Sunday snoozers," said Stanley.
"Did you get me up just to sneer at me?"
"No. I have a message from Miss Sharpe. She says when you come out you're to take Betty Kane's statement with you, and you're on no account to forget it because it's of the first importance. I'll say it's important! She's going round looking as if she had unearthed a million."
"Looking happy!" Robert said, unbelieving.
Like a bride. Indeed I haven't seen a woman look like that since my cousin Beulah married her Pole. A face like a scone, Beulah has; and believe me that day she looked like Venus, Cleopatra, and Helen of Troy rolled into one."
"Do you know what it is that Miss Sharpe is so happy about?"