"She said she hadn't time," said Geoffrey easily. "We tried to wash Michael, but he only got more streaky."

"Oh, please don't mind, Mrs. Hunt," Norah pleaded. "They've been such darlings!"

"I'm afraid I don't mind at all," said Mrs. Hunt, sitting down thankfully. "I've been picturing my poor babies tired to death of not being out--and then to come home and find them in the seventh heaven----" She broke off, her lip quivering a little.

"You're just as tired as you can be," said Norah. "Now you're going to rest, and Geoff will show me how to get tea."

"Oh, I couldn't let you into that awful little kitchen," said Mrs.

Hunt hastily. "And besides--I'm awfully sorry--I don't believe the milkman has been yet."

"I could go to the milk-shop round the corner with a jug," said Geoffrey anxiously. "Do let's, Mother."

"Is there one?" Norah asked. "Now, Mrs. Hunt, do rest--make her put her feet up on the sofa, Dad. And Geoff and I will go for milk, and I'll ask Eva to make tea. Can she?"

"Oh, of course she _can_" said Mrs. Hunt, ceasing to argue the point.

"But she's never fit to be seen."

"That doesn't matter," said David Linton masterfully. "We've seen her once, and survived the shock. Just put your feet up, and tell me all about your husband--Norah will see to things."

Eva, however, was found to have risen to the situation. She had used soap and water with surprising effect, and now bloomed in a fresh cap and an ap.r.o.n that had plainly done duty a good many times, but, being turned inside out, still presented a decent front to the world. She scorned help in preparing tea, but graciously permitted Norah to wash the three children and brush their hair, and indicated where clean overalls might be found. Then, escorted by all three, Norah sallied forth, jug in hand, and found, not only the milk-shop, but another where cakes and scones so clamoured to be bought that they all returned laden with paper bags. Eva had made a huge plate of b.u.t.tered toast; so that the meal which presently made its appearance on the big table in the drawing-room might well have justified the query as to whether indeed a war were in progress.

Mrs. Hunt laughed, rather mirthlessly.

"I suppose I ought to protest--but I'm too tired," she said. "And it is very nice to be taken care of again. Michael, you should have bread-and-b.u.t.ter first."

"Vere isn't any," said Alison with triumph.

Norah was tucking a feeder under Michael's fat chin.

"Now he's my boy for a bit--not yours at all, Mrs. Hunt," she said, laughing. "Forget them all: I'm going to be head nurse." And Mrs.

Hunt lay back thankfully, and submitted to be waited on, while the shouts of laughter from the tea-table smoothed away a few more lines from her face, and made even Eva, feasting on unaccustomed cakes in the kitchen, smile grimly and murmur, "Lor, ain't they 'avin' a time!"

Not until tea was over, and the children busy with picture books that had come mysteriously from another of his pockets, did David Linton unfold his plan: and then he did it somewhat nervously.

"We want to take you all out of this, Mrs. Hunt," he said. "There's a little cottage--a jolly little thatched place--close to our house that is simply clamouring to have you all come and live in it. I think it will hold you all comfortably. Will you come?"

Mrs. Hunt flushed.

"Don't talk to poor Bloomsbury people of such heavenly things as thatched cottages," she said. "We have this horrible abode on a long lease, and I don't see any chance of leaving it."

"Oh, never mind the lease--we'll sub-let it for you," said Mr. Linton.

He told her briefly of John O'Neill's bequest to Norah.

"I want you to put it out of your head that you're accepting the slightest favour," he went on. "We feel that we only hold the place in trust; the cottage is there, empty, and indeed it is you who will be doing us the favour by coming to live in it."

"Oh--I couldn't," she said breathlessly.

"Just think of it, Mrs. Hunt!" Norah knelt down by the hard little horsehair sofa. "There's a big lawn in front, and a summer-house where the babies could play, and a big empty attic for them on wet days, and heaps of fresh milk, and you could keep chickens; and the sitting-room catches all the sun, and when Major Hunt comes out of the hospital it would be so quiet and peaceful. He could lie out under the trees on fine days on a rush lounge; and there are jolly woods for him to walk in." The poor wife caught her breath. "And he'd be such tremendous company for Dad, and I know you'd help me when I got into difficulties with my cook-lady. There's a little stream, and a tiny lake, and----"

"When is we goin', Muvver?"

The question was Alison's, put with calm certainty. She and Geoffrey had stolen near, and were listening with eager faces.

"Oh, my darling, I'm afraid we can't," said Mrs. Hunt tremulously.

"But the big girl says we can. When is we going?"

"Oh, Mother!" said Geoffrey, very low. "Away from--_here_!" He caught her hand. "Oh, say we're going, Mother--darling!"

"Of course she'll say it," David Linton said. "The only question is, how soon can you be ready?"

"Douglas is terribly proud," Mrs. Hunt said. "I am afraid I couldn't be proud. But he will never accept a favour. I know it would be no use to ask him."

"Then we won't ask him," said David Linton calmly. "When does he leave the hospital?"

"This day week, if he is well enough."

"Then we'll have you comfortably installed long before that. We won't tell him a thing about it: on the day he's to come out I'll go for him in the motor and whisk him down to Homewood before he realizes where he's going. Now, be sensible, Mrs. Hunt"--as she tried to speak.

"You know what his state is--how anxious you are: you told me all about it just now. Can you, in justice to him, refuse to come?--can you face bringing him back here?"

Geoffrey suddenly burst into sobs.

"Oh, don't Mother!" he choked. "You know how he hates it.

And--trees, and gra.s.s, and woods, and----" He hid his face on her arm.

"An' tsickens," said Alison. "An' ackits to play in."

"You're in a hopeless minority, you see, Mrs. Hunt," said Mr. Linton.

"You'll have to give in."

Mrs. Hunt put her arms round the two children who were pressing against her in their eagerness: whereupon Michael raised a wrathful howl and flung himself bodily upon them, ejaculating: "Wants to be hugged, too!" Over the three heads the mother looked up at her visitors.

"Yes, I give in," she said. "I'm not brave enough not to. But I don't know what Douglas will say."

"I'll attend to Douglas," said Mr. Linton cheerfully. "Now, how soon can you come?" He frowned severely. "There's to be no question of house-cleaning here--I'll put in people to do that. You'll have your husband to nurse next week, and I won't have you tiring yourself out beforehand. So you have only to pack."

"Look, Mrs. Hunt," Norah was flushed with another brilliant idea.

"Let us take the babies down to-day--I'm sure they will come with me.

Then you and Eva will have nothing to do but pack up your things."

"Oh, I couldn't----" Mrs. Hunt began.

"Ah yes, you could." She turned to the children. "Geoff, will you all come with my Daddy and me and get the cottage ready for Mother?"

Geoffrey hesitated.

"Would you come soon, Mother?"