Page:Dark Hester.djvu/158

Ingpen remained for a moment standing outside. ‘Is that the grandchild?’ he asked.

‘Yes. That is the grandchild. Do come in.—Or are you busy?’

‘I’m never busy nowadays. I never shall be busy again. But I didn’t stop to get myself invited. I was only passing and saw the little boy, and that he had a look of you.—Not much though. He’s more like your son.—It’s your fault if I stopped—for having such pleasant things to look at in your garden.’

‘But do come in, if you find it pleasant. Robin, this is Captain Ingpen. He is going to help us. Here is your basket, Nurse. Pick anything you like.’

The day was lovely. The pale, high October sky arched benignantly above them; a robin sang and across the green a bonfire was sending up indolent curls of smoke and the spicy scent went with that of the chrysanthemums. Monica, making Robin known to Captain Ingpen, felt a lightness of heart to which she had long been a stranger. This might indeed have been her youth again and this child Clive. It was just so that Clive would have gone forward, shy but courteous, to put out his little hand and say: ‘How do you do.’