But if Roger had gained his point, he gained little beside it. The week pa.s.sed pleasantly, but some obscure instinct tied Alwynne to his aunts'

ap.r.o.n-strings. He saw less of her in those last days than in all the weeks of her visit. He had a.s.sured her that The Dears would need help, and she took him at his word. She absorbed herself in their concerns, and in seven long days found time but twice to visit Roger's roses.

Yet who so pleasant as Alwynne when she was with him? Roger should have appreciated her whim of civility. It is on record that she agreed with him one dinner-time, on five consecutive subjects. On record, too, that in that last week there arose between them no quarrel worthy of the name. Yet Roger was not in the easiest of moods, as his gardeners knew, and his coachman, and his aunts. The gardeners grumbled. The coachman went so far as to think of talking of giving notice. Alicia said it was the spring. Jean thought he needed a tonic--or a change. Roger, cautiously consulted, surprised her by agreeing. He said it was a good idea. He might very well take a few days off, say in a fortnight, or three weeks....

Only Alwynne, very busy over the finishing touches of Clare's birthday present, paid no attention to the state of Roger's temper. She was entirely content. The antic.i.p.ation of her reunion with Clare accentuated the delights of her protracted absence. Indeed, it was not until the last morning of her visit that she noticed any change in him. That last morning, she thought resentfully, as later she considered matters in the train, he had certainly managed to spoil. Roger, her even-minded, tranquil Roger--Roger, prime sympathiser and confederate--Roger, the entirely dependable--had failed her. She did not know what had come over him.

For Roger had been in a bad temper, a rotten bad temper, and heaven knew why.... Alwynne didn't.... She had been in such a jolly frame of mind herself.... She had got her packing done early, and had dashed down to breakfast, beautifully punctual--and then it all began.... She re-lived it indignantly, as the telegraph poles shot by.

The bacon had sizzled pleasantly in the chafing-dish. She was standing at the window, crumbling bread to the birds.

"Hulloa! You're early!" remarked Roger, entering.

"Done all my packing already! Isn't that virtue?" Alwynne was intent on her pensioners. "Oh, Roger--look! There's a cuckoo. I'm sure it's a cuckoo. Jean says they come right on to the lawn sometimes. I've always wanted to see one. Look! The big dark blue one."

"Starling," said Roger shortly, and sat himself down. "First day I've known you punctual," he continued sourly.

"I'm going home," cried Alwynne. "I'm going home! Do you know I've been away seven weeks? It's queer that I haven't been homesick, isn't it?"

"Is it?" said Roger blankly.

"So, of course, I'm awfully excited," she continued, coming to the table. "Oh, Roger! In six hours I shall see Clare!"

"Congratulations!" He gulped down some coffee.

Alwynne looked at him, mildly surprised at his taciturnity.

"I've had a lovely time," she remarked wistfully. "You've all been so good to me."

Roger brightened.

"The Dears are such dears," continued Alwynne with enthusiasm. "I've never had such a glorious time. It only wanted Clare to make it quite perfect. And Elsbeth, of course."

"Of course," said Roger.

"So often I've thought," she went on: "'Now if only Clare and Elsbeth could be coming down the road to meet us----'" she paused effectively.

"I do so like my friends to know each other, don't you?"

Roger was cutting bread--stale bread, to judge by his efforts. His face was growing red.

"Because then I can talk about them to them," concluded Alwynne lucidly.

"Jolly for them!" he commented indistinctly.

Alwynne looked up.

"What, Roger?"

"I said, 'Jolly for them!'"

"Oh!" Alwynne glanced at him in some uncertainty. Then, with a frown--

"Have you finished--already?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I haven't," remarked Alwynne, with sufficient point. Roger rose.

"You'll excuse me, won't you? I've a busy morning ahead of me."

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 a.s.sured 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 s.p.a.ce 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.