"Just think of it! Though they pray for the dear homeland every night in their prayers, and for the friends who are at home." "Are there any friends at home? Do you think any of them would speak to us--to me?" "Why, Sydney, what a goose you are! They'd be tumbling over each other to get a chance." "Would they? I shouldn't want them to do that, if only from the point of view of dignity, to say nothing of their getting hurt." "Just think of the letters I'm always having, and which you get; just look at this heap! There's another from Major Reith; he says that if we won't go to him, the next long leave he gets he'll come here." "We might bring him back with us." "And there's one from Margaret, Countess of Cantyre; she's longing to make your acquaintance." "Is she?" His tone was more than a trifle dry. "You know she is! Only in her last letter she said she never would believe you were a real creature till she'd met you in the flesh; she has heard all sorts of tales about you; you've been the hero of all kinds of wonderful stories, but she's never seen you once. She has the impertinence to say in this very letter that she is still convinced that you're only a person out of a novel, a mere fiction; and that, though I pretend that you're my husband, she never will believe it till you tell her so, in person, to her face. What do you think of that?" "Vi, I think I'll wire to Carr and Phillips." "Haven't you sent an answer to their telegram?" "No, that's it; that's one reason why I came by the earlier train; I wanted to see you first, to know what answer I was to send." "I see." In her voice, although she spoke so quietly, there was a tremor, a catching of her breath, a suspicion of eagerness; all these things in those two little words, which probably did not go unnoticed. "It's a matter on which I wished to consult you before I did anything; so much may hinge on the reply I send. The question is, what steamer could we catch?" "Sydney!" His name burst from her rather than was uttered; her whole face was lighted up. "When could you be ready?" "Why--when could I be ready? Why--Sydney, I haven't thought; what a question to spring on one; as though--as though one could decide upon a thing like that, without a moment's notice." "I have been talking to Draycott, and he says that if we were to go by the next boat----" "The next boat!" She seemed to be springing out of her shoes. "And were to stay in England, say, a year----" "Stay in England--say, a year!" "Everything would go on all right here, and he'd look after things. The question is, could you and the children be ready for the next boat?" "When does it go?" "In ten days. I don't want to hustle you; if you want time for consideration--why, take it." "Of course I don't want time for consideration, you absurd creature; of course we can be ready." "You think so?" "I don't think, I'm sure--silly!" "I don't want to have you worried or hustled----"