"No. And we mustn’t tell her. I wish I could, but it wouldn’t be fair on her. She’ll be the first person I shall tell on that happy day when I can tell everybody." *CHAPTER XXIV* *HOLIDAY* Wilbraham came down to Royd for a week-end visit. It was all he could spare from his arduous duties. He was thinner than he had been, but seemed to have flourished under the severe course of work to which he had submitted himself. He seemed harder and more self-reliant. Lady Brent saw at the first glance that his old temptation had not troubled him, or if it had troubled him that he had got the better of it. Harry drove a dogcart to the station to meet him. The greeting was warm between them. Wilbraham looked him up and down. "I can’t say they’ve smartened you up," he said, "because you didn’t want it. But they’ve turned you into a soldier. I hope you haven’t forgotten all your classics." Harry laughed, but made no reply. When they had driven out of the little town and were on the long lonely country road, he said: "I wanted to see you first. Of course you’ll be talking me over with Granny. There are some things I don’t want said." "If you mean about Viola," said Wilbraham after a pause. "I’ve kept my own counsel—and yours—for nearly two years. I’ve never been quite sure that I was right to do it. I believe it might have been better for you if Lady Brent had known. But at any rate, I have kept silence, and it isn’t my affair now. It’s yours. I quite recognize that." "Have you seen her?" "Viola? Since you came home, you mean. You know that I saw her occasionally before. Yes, I’ve seen her. Of course she wants you. You’re going up next week, aren’t you? Have you arranged that here?" "Not yet. I told mother that I should be going to London, but I haven’t said when yet." "They won’t like it, I suppose. You won’t give them any reason for going. They’ll think you just want to get away from here to amuse yourself as other young men do who are home on leave." "I’m afraid they must think what they like. I hate all this secrecy—and deception. I won’t deceive them more than I can help. They must let me go my own way, and not ask questions. But it’s deception all the same. Why did you let me in for it?" "Let you in for it? _I_ let you in for it! What on earth do you mean, Harry?"