He got up. But in spite of his protestations of haste he still stood at the table, fidgeting over his pile of circulars and seed catalogues, while he coughed the preliminary cough of a man who has something to say, and no idea of how to say it. Alwynne, meanwhile, had discovered the two letters that her napkin had hidden, and had neither ears nor eyes for him and his hesitations. Roger watched her gloomily as she opened the envelopes. The first enclosure was read and tossed aside quickly enough, but the other was evidently absorbing. He shrugged his shoulders at last, and, crossing the room, took his warmed boots from the hearth. The supporting tongs fell with a crash. Alwynne jumped. "Oh, Roger, you are noisy!" "Sorry," said Roger, but without conviction. She looked across at him with a hint of perturbation in her manner. She distrusted laconics. "I say--is anything the matter?" "Nothing whatever!" he assured her. "Why?" He bent over his boots. "I don't know. You're rather glum to-day, aren't you?" "Not at all," said Roger, with a dignity that was marred by the sudden bursting of his over-tugged bootlace. His ensuing exclamation was vigorous and not inaudible. Alwynne giggled. It is not easy to tie a knot in four-sided leather laces. She watched his struggles without excessive sympathy. Presently a neat twist of twine flicked through space and fell beside him. "'Just a little bit of string,'" murmured Alwynne flippantly. But getting no thanks, she returned to her letter. Roger fumbled in silence. "The Dears are late," remarked Alwynne at last, as she folded her sheets. "No--it's we who are early. I got down early on purpose. I thought you might be, too. I wanted----" he broke off abruptly. "Yes, I always wake up at daybreak when I'm excited," she said joyously. "Oh, Roger! How I'm looking forward to getting home! Clare says she may meet me--if she feels like it," she beamed. "Oh!" said Roger. Alwynne tapped her foot angrily. "What's the matter with you?" she demanded. "Why on earth do you sit there and grunt at me like that? Why won't you talk? You're an absolute wet blanket--on my last morning. I wish The Dears would come down." "I think I hear them moving," he said, and stared at the ceiling. "I hope you do." Alwynne flounced from the table and picked up a paper. He stood looking at her--between vexation and amusement, and another sensation less easily defined. "Well, I must be off," he said at last. He got no answer. "Good-bye, Alwynne. Pleasant journey." Alwynne turned in a flash. "Good-bye? Aren't you coming to see me off?" she demanded blankly. He hesitated, looking back at her from the open window, one foot already on the terrace. "I'm awfully busy. It's market-day, you know--and the new stuff's coming in. The Dears will see you off." "Oh, all right." Alwynne was suddenly subdued. She held out a limp hand. He disregarded it. "Do you want me to come?" He spoke more cheerfully.