“And, with so many of our countrymen in want, we must save all we can, to be able to help them the more. See, Roy?”
“I think I won't ask mamma to get me a new waistcoat just yet,” was Roy's practical response. “I'll wait. Are you going to stop?”
“This is the house. Remember, you have to get Mrs. Curtis into a talk.”
Roy was deeply interested. Mr. Curtis proved to be a gentlemanly young fellow, with a keen clever face, much overshadowed by present care, while his wife, hardly more than a child in age, was kitten-like in small plump prettiness.
“Oh, it is quite dreadful!” she said, speedily fraternising with Roy. Having had six brothers of her own, she was much at home with boys in general. “We were to have gone back the very next week, and everybody said there could be no need to hurry. And we were so enjoying ourselves—you know”—with a blush. “And then that terrible order came, that we were to count ourselves prisoners. At least, my husband was a prisoner, and that, of course, meant the same for me. And our dear little home, where we meant to be so happy, has been waiting for us ever since—empty. And Hugh's studio, and the picture he had in hand, which was to have been finished this autumn. He”—lowering her voice and speaking with childish unreserve—“was to have had a hundred pounds for it. And now everything is at a standstill. But you are in the same trouble too.”
She stole a glance across at Ivor, who was speaking in an undertone to her husband.
“It is so good of Captain Ivor to call. Mr. Kinsland told us that he would ask him to come; but we never dreamt of seeing him so soon. We feel strange here, you know; and it is a help to see anyone come in.” Mrs. Curtis dropped her voice afresh. “What a pleasant-looking man he is—and so soldierly! Mr. Kinsland said he had never seen a handsomer face; and I don't think I ever did either. It is such a kind face too. Mr. Kinsland said you were desperately fond of him.”
Roy laughed. It was not his fashion to talk about being “fond” of people. “Den's just the very best fellow that ever lived!” he declared—his usual formula. “And I suppose you got here before we did.”
“Only three days ago. We had to come to these rooms. Not very homelike, are they? But the landlady is pleasant; and nothing else would matter much if only Hugh could get back to his work. It makes him so depressed not to be able, poor fellow. Men are very soon depressed—don't you think so?”
Roy said “No” promptly, and then remembered Denham on the preceding evening, but he did not take back the monosyllable. He exerted himself to keep her talking, and he also did his utmost not to see or hear, yet he could not help being aware of a suspicious little movement of Denham's hand, and then of a startled “No, no! How can I—from a stranger?”