Ronald sat in absorbed contemplation of the Infant.

“It appears more perfect every time one sees it,” he remarked, without looking at Aubrey.

Aubrey handed him a form for foreign telegrams, and a fountain pen.

“What are you going to say to—­to your wife?” he asked in a low voice.

“I don’t know,” said Ronnie, vaguely.  “What a jolly pen!  What am I to do with this?”

“You are to let Helen know whether she is to meet you in town, or to wait at the Grange.”

“Ah, I remember.  What do you advise, Treherne?  I don’t seem able to make plans.”

“I should say most decidedly, let her wait for you at home.”

“Yes, I think so too.  I shall be rushing around in town.  I can get home before tea-time.  How shall I word it?”

“Why not say:  Owing to satisfactory news in letter, prefer to meet you quietly at home.  All well.”

Ronnie wrote this at Aubrey’s dictation; then he paused.

“What news?” he asked, perplexed at the words he himself had written.

“Why—­that Helen is quite well.  Isn’t that satisfactory news?”

“Oh, of course.  I see.  Yes.”

“Then you might add:  Will wire train from London.”

“But I know the train now,” objected Ronnie.  “I have been thinking of it for weeks!  I shall catch the 3 o’clock express.”

“Very well, then add:  Coming by 3 o’clock train.  Home to tea.”

Ronnie wrote it—­a joyous smile on his lips and in his eyes.

“It sounds so near,” he said.  “After seven long months—­it sounds so near!”

“Now,” said Aubrey, “give it to me.  I will take it out for you.  I know an office where one can hand in wires at any hour.”

“You are a good fellow,” said Ronnie gratefully.

“And now look here,” continued Aubrey.  “Before I go, you must turn into bed, old chap.  You need sleep more than you know.  I can do a little prescribing myself.  I am going to give you a dose of sleeping stuff which brought me merciful oblivion, after long nights of maddening wakefulness.  You will feel another man, when you wake in the morning.  But I am coming with you to the Hague.  I can tend the Infant, while you go to the publishers.  I will see you safely on board at the Hook, on the following evening, and next day you will be at home.  After all those months alone in the long grass, you don’t want any more solitary travelling.  Now come to bed.”

Ronnie rose unsteadily.  “Aubrey,” he said, “you are a most awfully good fellow.  I shall tell Helen.  She will—­will—­will be so—­so grateful.  I’m perfectly all right, you know; but other people seem so—­so busy, and—­and—­so vague.  You will help me to—­to—­to—­arrest their attention.  I must take the Infant to bed.”

“Yes, yes,” said Aubrey; “we will find a cosy place for the Infant.  If Helen were here she would provide a bassinet.  Don’t forget that joke.  It will amuse Helen.  I make you a present of it. If Helen were here she would provide a bassinet and a pram for the Infant of Prague.”