When she came back Evelyn saw at once that she had overrated the strength of her new resolution, and was on the point of giving way completely. She did not speak but sank down into a chair and hid her face in her hands whilst her shoulders shook with weeping. “Celia!” exclaimed Evelyn with intentional sharpness. “This will not do; it is almost ridiculous. Pull yourself together at once.” Celia raised her face and the expression in her eyes as she looked at her friend reminded Evelyn of a wounded hare. “Don’t speak to me like that, Evie,” she said piteously. “I can’t bear it.” “Darling, I’m sorry, but you must not go on like this,” replied Evelyn. “You really, really must show more courage. What has upset you again?” “Nothing, only being with mother was very trying. She was very quiet, but somehow very old. And—oh, Evie, she wants me to send a telegram to John to come here at once.” There was a sudden sound of hopelessness in her voice. “Well, why not?” replied Evelyn, answering the unspoken disagreement. “There’s no reason now why he shouldn’t come here, and of course he must be told at once.” “You don’t understand,” exclaimed Celia, breaking into an irritation unusual to her. “No, I don’t,” replied Evelyn. “He’s the only son, and the mere fact that his father ordered him out of the house years ago is no reason why he shouldn’t come to his mother and sister at such a time as this. They’ve never lost their love for him.” “And never will!” cried Celia vehemently. “But that’s nothing to do with it.” “We seem to be talking at cross-purposes,” Evelyn said in the most matter of fact voice she could manage; she did not know what to make of Celia in this new, unpliant mood. “Aunt Eleanor wants him, of course she does, and I should have thought you would have wanted him just as much.” Celia looked at her a moment without speaking, a worried, piteous look which went straight to Evelyn’s heart. “What is it, Celia?” she asked simply. “Why don’t you want him to come? We have never talked about him, I know; we couldn’t honourably after the promise Sir Roger made you and Aunt Eleanor give, but I’ve always thought he was the one person you loved better than me, and Aunt Eleanor has never been the same since; joyousness went out of her somehow when John left. And yet now you don’t want him sent for, when he could be such a comfort to you both. What is it? Won’t you tell me?”