But don't try and make it harder
for me to make peace."
"I beg your pardon, Isobel. If you do, you're an angel. I couldn't, to
save my life."
At the head of the stairs I met Charles.
"He's gone," said he significantly, and bestriding the balustrades, he
shot to the foot. When I reached him he was pinching the biceps muscle
of his arm.
"Feel, Isobel," said he, "It's hard, isn't it?"
"Very, Charles, but I'm in a hurry."
"Look here," he continued, with an ugly expression on his face, "I'm
going into training. I'm going to eat bits of raw mutton, and
dumb-bell. Wait a year, wait half a year, and I shall be able to
thrash him. I'll make him remember these theatricals. I don't forget.
I haven't forgot his bursting my football out of spite."
It is not pleasant to see one's own sins reflected on other faces. I
could not speak.
By the front door was Bobby. He was by way of looking out of the
portico window, but his swollen eyes could not possibly have seen
anything.
"Oh, Isobel, Isobel!" he sobbed, "Philip's gone, and taken the
D--d--d--dragon with him, and we're all m--m--m--miserable."
"Don't cry, Bobby," said I, kissing him. "Finish your cloak, and be
doing anything you can.
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