Chapter XI

Rather more than an hour and a half later, Rose
Otway, with bursting heart, but with dry, gleaming
eyes -- for she had a nervous fear of her mother's
affectionate questioning, and she had already endured
Anna's well-meant, fussy, though still unspoken sympathy --
stood at the spare-room window of the Trellis
House. From there she could watch, undisturbed,
the signs of departure now going busily on before the
big gates of the group of three Georgian houses known
as "Robey's."

Piles of luggage, bags, suit-cases, golf sticks, and
so on, were being put outside and inside the mid-Victorian
fly, which was still patronised by the young
gentlemen of "Robey's," in their goings and comings
from the station. And then, even before the old cab-horse
had started his ambling trot townwards, Mr.
and Mrs. Robey, their two little girls, and their three
boys not long back from school, all appeared together
at the gate.

In their midst stood Jervis Blake, his tall figure
towering above them all.

Most young men would have felt, and perhaps a
little resented the fact, that the whole party looked
slightly ridiculous. Not so this young man. There
had never been much of the schoolboy in Jervis Blake.
Now he felt very much a man, and he was grateful
for the affectionate kindness which made these good

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