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Tyson muttered something which Stanistreet could not hear, and Molly answered with an intense pleading note that carried far. "But I must see him." He started forward at the sound of her voice. I believe up to the very last he clung to the doubt that was his hope. But Tyson had heard the movement and he shut the door. The pleading and muttering went on again on the other side.
He had taken her to the "Criterion" one night, and at the close of the first act Tyson came into the box opposite theirs. He was alone. The lights went up in the house, and he looked round before he sat down; evidently he had recognized his wife, and evidently she knew it. Stanistreet, watching her with painful interest, saw her body slacken and her face turn white under its paint and powder.
Well, what can a man do more than die for his country? And if Molly died? Molly would not die. Something told him that. But he might break her heart if he went. Yes; and he would certainly break his promises if he stayed. Stanistreet was right there. Her words came back to him: "It's all over and done with now." Was it? Was it?
He rides like a man. Look at him look at him!" This was generous of Sir Peter, considering what Tyson had said about his riding. But for all his love of gossip Sir Peter was a gentleman, and that goose weighed heavily on his conscience. The reproof he had just administered to Stanistreet relieved him wonderfully. Stanistreet was at a loss to understand the old fellow's caustic tone.
He had found his men, fifty brave fellows in all, ordered his outfit and booked his passage, before he could make up his mind to break the news to her, for there was the risk of breaking her heart too. And now it wanted but two days before his departure. Coming out of the War Office he met Stanistreet. They walked together as far as Charing Cross. "Yes," said Tyson, "the thing's done now.
Stanistreet never knew how he became possessed of her plump hand, nor what he did with it. His eyes looked the question he was afraid to speak. "It's all right all per perfectly right," stammered the optimist. "Wake him up, please, and tell him he has got a son."
Arden," he addressed the elder woman, who tolerated him dispassionately. "And Mrs. Stanistreet ... I say, aren't you a bit late?" "Frightfully," assented Mrs. Stanistreet in a weary voice. "It must be all of midnight." "Hardly that, Adele," said Mrs. Arden with a humorous glance. "Dinner, the play, supper, and home before twelve!" commented Blensop, shocked. "I say, that is going some, you know."
"Shot through the shoulder, that is all.... Schuyler nine, three hundred? Dr. Apthorp, please. This is Mr. Blensop speaking, secretary to Colonel Stanistreet.... Are you there, Dr. Apthorp?"
And when he came to stay at Thorneytoft for weeks at a time, familiarity with the little creature's moods only complicated the problem. It was about the middle of February, and Stanistreet had been down for a fortnight's hunting, when, in the morning of his last day, Tyson announced his intention of going up to town with him to-morrow.
Tyson laid down his cue and held Stanistreet with a leveling gaze. "Look here, Stanistreet," said he, "I've stood a good deal, but if you think I'm going to stand that, you're a greater fool than I took you for. What the hell do you mean by telling everybody about my private affairs?"
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