"I am going to ask you to find out whether the people at the refreshment-place could give my niece something by way of substitute for dinner. A cup of coffee, or cocoa with milk, a roll and butter, and a slice of cold beef or ham?" Sherbrand said eagerly: "I am sure Miss Saxham can get anything like that. Mrs. Durrant keeps open house till nine o’clock, or later, if there is reason. She caters for the School Staff, respectably, by contract. I lodge—a very decent berth—over the dining-room, where I have my grub. Noisy by day but quiet enough at night-time. Will you come this way, Miss Saxham? You too, Doctor?" Saxham declined. They left him standing there, in the wide expanse that was filling up with brooding shadows, with his back to the dying rose of the sunset, looking fixedly to the north. *CHAPTER XXXVIII* *THE REBOUND* Patrine, that magnificent animal, had passed unknowingly through the painful ordeal which accompanies in the human the evolution of a soul. No doubt she had had one before without suspecting it. Now she was conscious of the presence of the guest. Through the big barbaric halls of her nature, glittering with tinsel over plaster backed with canvas, thronged with vanities, appetites, desires, and ambitions, jostling at the glittering fountains, buying at the tawdry counters, flocking to the dubious restaurants, swooping down the water-chutes, wandering through the painted landscapes, drinking in the dubious atmosphere, had passed a ray of light, pure, vivifying and cleansing, had blown a breeze of crystal mountain air. And through the blare of brass a note had sounded that would never cease to vibrate in Patrine’s ears. Having partially confessed, she experienced a disproportionate rebound of spirits. Her fears for Bawne weighed on her less heavily, Saxham’s reference to cold ham had awakened in her the pangs of healthy appetite. The proximity of Sherbrand was a vividly keen pleasure. She had always wished for a brother, and here was the very _beau ideal_ of one! She meant to ask him if he had sisters—she was sure they would be awfully nice girls! One or two electric lights were switched on in the big room full of little white-covered tables, with the counter at the far end piled high with thick white plates. The big nickel urns were cold and empty, but Mrs. Durrant, the stout and smiling proprietress of the restaurant, produced hot coffee and milk in a twinkling, bread and butter, the cold ham, and a cold pigeon-pie. With her own very fat, very pink hands Mrs. Durrant ministered, voluble the while in sympathy.... The lady had been upset because the dear little boy hadn’t come back. People were sometimes kept for hours through a Loose Nut, or a Slack Wire, or a Carburetter, or some little thing or another going wrong.