“And Cassilis?”
Cassilis was the gnome.
“Ransome has telegraphed him to come down at once. But I thought I'd run up and tell you. We might go together to see him and fetch him back with us. You 'll come, won't you?”
“Come? Why, of course I'll come. What do you think I 'll do? Stay in London at such a time and send her a post-card to say I'm glad?”
“You said something about seeing your review through the press.”
“Oh, confound the review! It can go to the devil!” cried John.
London ablaze with revolution would have been a small matter compared with this world-shaking event, the lifting of a girl's head.
“It will be such a comfort to me,” said the old man. “I don't know what to do. I can't rest. My mind's in a maze. It's like the raising of Jairus's daughter.”
“Let us do some telephoning,” said John.
They went out together. John rang up Cassilis. He had been out all the morning and would not be returning for another hour. John rang up Herold at a theatre where he knew him to be rehearsing, and gave him the glad news. They returned to the smoking-room. Sir Oliver drank off his brandy and soda at one gulp.