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Updated: June 21, 2025
Just after these were served, before he had had time to drink the steaming hot coffee, the friendly inspector arrived, accompanied by another railway official. They said they had come to make sure Ronnie had found what he wanted in the refreshment room. Ronnie thanked them for their civility, and showed them the Infant.
Also, that Central Africa is its only possible setting? It is merely a satisfactory side-issue, that it varies my mise-en-scène." "Must you go off there, Ronnie, in order to write it? Why not get all the newest and best books on African travel, and read up facts " "Never!" cried Ronald, on his feet again, and walking up and down the room.
Suddenly an inspiration came to Ronnie. Brightness returned to his face. He stood up. "Darling," he said, "I told you that an even greater moment was coming for us." She rose also, and faced him, expectant. He put out his hand and lifted the Infant. "Helen, let's go to the studio, where I first told you I felt sure I could play a 'cello.
"Good idea of yours, Melhuish," Ronnie said. Frank grunted. "I've no sort of grounds for it, you know," I explained. "It was only a casual suggestion." "Jolly convincing one, though," Turnbull congratulated me. "So exactly the sort of thing she would do, isn't it, Frank?" "Shouldn't have thought she'd have been gone so long," Jervaise replied.
Words flowed so readily to express his surface thoughts; but when words suddenly and unexpectedly failed, a deeper depth had been reached; and in that silence, his wife found comfort and content. Ronnie was not all ripples. There was more beneath than the shifting shallows. Deep, still pools were there, and rocks on which might eventually be built a beacon-light for the souls of men.
She has been through such a lot. Ronnie, you will never quite realise well, I never knew such a woman, excepting, perhaps, Mrs. Dalmain; and of course she has not your wife's beauty. I haven't the smallest intention of ever coming under the yoke myself.
She knows everything that is being said of everybody else, and quite a lot that hasn't even got as far as that. Aunt Cynthia has a string of wonderful stories about Cowley Fathers biting Nestorian Bishops, and Athelstan Riley pinching Hensley Henson, and so forth. She is as good as Ronnie Knox at producing or inventing them. I'm not bad myself, when I like, but Aunt Cynthia leaves me out of sight.
That reminds me darling, I have something to show you! Such a jolly treasure such a surprise! I left it in the hall. Would you like me to fetch it?" He loosed his arms and she withdrew from them, looking up into his glowing face. "Yes, Ronnie," she said. "Why, certainly. Do fetch it." He rushed off into the hall. He fumbled eagerly with the buckles of the canvas bag.
Then he understood; and, this time, it was no mirage. Ronnie's desert wanderings were over. "But don't you want to see your son?" Helen asked, presently. Ronnie leapt up. "See him? Why, of course I do! Oh, come on!... Helen! What does one say to a very young baby?" Helen followed him upstairs, laughing. "That entirely depends upon circumstances.
Then they steadied suddenly. Helen's calm, lovely figure, in a shaft of sunlight, reappeared in the empty chair. Ronnie handed the Infant to her; rose, staggered across the intervening space, and struck Aubrey Treherne a violent blow on the mouth. Aubrey gripped his arms, and for a moment the two men glared at one another.
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