“I know: I ran across the park and got here before the old cab. And where’s Father?” “He started an hour ago to drive up to London.” “Oh, how rotten! I think that’s beastly of him. And didn’t he get my telegram to say I was coming this morning?” Violet hesitated. “Yes, dear, he did get it,” she said. “He thought that, having said you would come in the afternoon, you ought to have kept to your first plan.” Dennis looked impartially at this verdict. “I suppose I ought,” he said. “But as I found I could get here earlier, of course I did. And so he scored off me by making me come up in a cab, and going away himself. When will he be back?” “Some time to-day. Late perhaps, he thought.” Dennis’s sun was very certainly clouded, but sufficient brightness remained to illuminate a pleasant day. There was a bathe before lunch, and Violet took him to play golf, after a slight demur over the chance of his father arriving during their absence, and there was tea on the terrace, and a stroll through the woods with his gun. All these things had been rapturous in anticipation, and though nothing could quite rob them of their honey, it was not of that transcendent order.... Well did Violet understand that, and well she understood why Colin had suddenly settled to go up to town that day. Then came dinner, where his place was laid but unoccupied, and old Lady Yardley groping in the twilight which was darkening round her, now thinking that this was Colin back from school, now asking where Colin was. But still he did not come, and about eleven Dennis, visibly perturbed and depressed, and his mother went up to bed. “And you’re sure he hasn’t had an accident?” he asked. “Yes, darling, quite sure. You mustn’t think of that.” A bright idea struck Dennis. “Oh, Mother, somebody must sit up for him to let him in,” he said. “Mayn’t I?” “No, dear. I know he wouldn’t wish you to. Go to bed, darling, and get a long night. You were up early enough to-day.” Dennis sighed. “Well, I’ve had a ripping day with you, anyhow,” he said. * * * * * Dennis’s room looked out on to the front of the house, and before he got into bed he set his door ajar, and the window wide, so that by no chance could he miss the sound of his father’s arrival, and, without turning off his light, sat propped up in bed, prepared for any length of vigil, for, in spite of the day-long disappointments, he was sure that Colin would look in on him when he came, and it would never do to miss that conference. There were millions of things to tell and be told, but better than any would be the fact of his father’s presence sitting here on his bed, and after ever so long a talk wishing him good night and leaving him to fall asleep with the sense of him still lingering in the room.