"They must want pruning. You know, gardening would do you good." He shook his head. "Too long in the back." "And Zebedee hasn't time?" "No, he hasn't time." Daniel was wondering where Miriam was, and how long Rupert would be, and though Helen knew she wearied him, she went on serenely. "Is he very busy now?" "Yes." "I can't think why people get ill in the spring, just when the lovely summer's coming. Does he get called up at night?" "I suppose so." He was growing tired of this. "But when I'm in bed, I'm asleep, you know." "Ah, that's nice for you," Helen said with a touch of irony as she carefully pulled out the lace of a dainty collar. "Isn't he rather lonely when you are up here?" "Lonely!" Daniel's mouth dropped wider and while he tried to answer this absurd question adequately, Rupert entered the room. "I told you to meet me outside the Bull, you old idiot." Like Miriam, Rupert had the effect of fortifying the life of his surroundings, but, unlike her, he had a happy trick of seeming more interested in others than in himself. He saw at once, with something keener than his keen eyes, that Daniel was bored, that Helen was at work on more than ironing, and with his entrance he scattered the vague dissension which was abroad. The kitchen recovered from the gloom with which Daniel had shadowed it and Daniel himself grew brighter. "I thought you said the Plover." "You didn't listen. Even you couldn't mistake one for the other, but I've scored off you. Helen, we shall want a good tea. I drove up with Zebedee, and he's coming here when he's finished with old Halkett." She stood with a cooling iron in her hand. "I'll make some scones. I expect Eliza gives him horrid food. And for supper there's cold chicken and salad and plenty of pudding; but how shall we put up the horse?" "Don't worry, Martha. He's only coming to tea. He won't stay long." "Oh, yes, he will." She had no doubt of it. "I want him to. Make up the fire for me, Daniel, please." She folded away the ironing cloth and gathered up the little damp cuffs and collars she had not ironed. A faint smile curved her steady lips, for nothing gave her more happiness than serving those who had a claim on her, and Zebedee's claim was his lack of womankind to care for him and her own gratitude for his existence. He was the one person to whom she could give the name of friend, yet their communion had seldom expressed itself in confidences: the knowledge of it lay snugly and unspoken in her heart. "He has never had anything to eat in this house before," she said with a solemnity which provoked Rupert to laughter. "What a sacrament women make of meals!" "I wish they all did," Daniel said in the bass notes of genuine feeling. "I don't know why you keep that awful woman," Helen said. "Don't start him on Eliza," Rupert begged. "Eliza and the intricacies of English law--" "Have you seen her?" Daniel persisted. "No, but of course she's awful if she doesn't give you proper food."