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Updated: June 19, 2025
Of course she was happy happy, and with a heart at rest as it had not been for months and months. But still it would be a great comfort when Jervis was up. She hated to see him lying there, helpless, given over to ministrations other than her own. As she went through the door, the nurse stopped her and said, "Would you go into Mr. Robey's study, Miss Otway?
And now the small group of men and women who were to be present at the marriage of Rose Otway and Jervis Blake were gathered together in Mrs. Robey's large drawing-room. Seven people in all, for the Dean had not yet arrived.
I promise you to do my best. And Rose?" "Yes," she said. "What that man said is right quite right. What we've got to do now is to start the boy on the right way nothing else matters." She nodded. "You and I can do it." "Yes, I know we can and will," said Rose; and then she opened the door of Mrs. Robey's sitting-room.
It was Rose Otway who led Sir John Blake by the hand down the passage. The dreadful sounds coming from Mrs. Robey's sitting-room had died down a little, but they still pierced one listener's heart. "Do be kind to her," whispered the girl. "Think what she must be going through. She was so happy about him this morning " "Yes, yes! You're quite right," he said hastily. "I've been a brute I know that.
He had been able to get away for a few hours from his work at the War Office to tell his boy how very, very pleased he was at that mention in Sir John French's Despatches. Indeed, all the morning telegraph boys had been bringing to "Robey's" the congratulations of friends and even acquaintances.
The study, which was a very agreeable room, overlooked the Close. It was panelled with dark old oak, and lined on one side with books, and opposite the centre window hung Mr. Robey's greatest treasure, a watercolour by Turner of Witanbury Cathedral, painted from the meadows behind the town. To-day Mr. Robey himself was not there, but his brother and Sir John Blake were both waiting for her.
She had been working very hard all that morning, helping to give some last touches of prettiness and comfort to the fine, airy rooms at "Robey's," which had now been transformed into Sir Jacques Robey's Red Cross Hospital.
"I like them rangey, don't you, Thayer?" "Yes, I think so. They do look good, don't they? They must average older than our fellows." "At least a year, I'd say. Not much 'beef' on any of them. Hello, Robey's sending Tyler in at right tackle! Wonder why. Trow wasn't hurt, was he?" "Hurt!" scoffed Amy. "How the dickens could anyone get hurt?
It paused at Coach Robey's boarding place and cheered and demanded a speech. Coach Robey, however, was not at home. Neither was Mr. Detweiler, to whose abode the fellows next made their way. But they didn't care much. They greatly preferred hearing themselves to listening to anything the coaches might have to say.
For two years he had been at "Robey's," the Army coaching establishment which was, in a minor degree, one of the glories of Witanbury, and which consisted of a group of beautiful old Georgian houses spreading across the whole of one of the wide corners of the Close. Some of the inhabitants of the Close resented the fact of "Robey's." But Mr.
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