The tone of the unseen speaker had become awkward, apologetic, and the listener bit her lips—­she did not believe in his explanation as to why he had behaved with such a lack of gratitude and good feeling last autumn.

“We shall be very glad to see you at any time, of course.  When can we expect you?”

But the welcoming words were uttered very coldly.

“It’s Tuesday to-day; I was thinking of motoring down on Friday or Saturday.  I’ve got a lot of business to do before then.  Will that be all right?”

“Of course it will.  Come Friday.”

She was thawing a little, and perhaps he felt this, for there came an eager, yearning note into the full, deep voice which sounded so oddly near, and which, for the moment, obliterated the long years since she had heard it last.

“How’s my godson?  Flick still in the land of the living, eh?”

“Thank heaven, yes!  That dog’s the one thing in the world Timmy cares for, I sometimes think.”

He felt that she was smiling now.

She heard the question:—­“Another three minutes, sir?” and the hasty answer:—­“Yes, another three minutes,” and then, “Still there, Janet?”

“Of course I am.  We’ll expect you on Friday, Godfrey, by tea-time, and I hope you’ll stay as long as you can.  You won’t mind having your old room?”

“Rather not!” and then in a hesitating, shamefaced voice:—­“I needn’t tell you that to me Old Place is home.”

It was in a very kindly voice that she answered:  “I’m glad you still feel like that, Godfrey.”

“Of course I do, and of course I am ashamed of not having written more often.  I often think of you all—­especially of dear old George—­” There came a pause, then the words:—­“I want to ask you a question, Janet.”

Janet Tosswill felt quite sure she knew what that question would be.  Before linking up with them all again Godfrey wanted to know certain facts about George.  While waiting for him to speak she had time to tell herself that this would prove that her husband and Betty, the eldest of her three step-daughters, had been wrong in thinking that Godfrey Radmore knew that George, Betty’s twin, had been killed in the autumn of 1916.  At that time all correspondence between Radmore and Old Place had ceased for a long time.  When it had begun again in 1917, in the form of a chaffing letter and a cheque for five pounds to the writer’s godson, Betty had suggested that nothing should be said of George’s death in Timmy’s answer.  Of course Betty’s wish had been respected, the more so that Janet herself felt sure that Godfrey did not know.  Why, he and George—­dear, sunny-natured George—­had been like fond brothers in the long ago, before Godfrey’s unfortunate love-affair with Betty.

And so it was that when she heard his next words they took her entirely by surprise, for it was such an unimportant, as well as unexpected, question that the unseen speaker asked.