Jimmy went back to the house. Delia's concern and sorrow, Delia's swift flight for hot water and cotton wool and iodine, and Delia's almost motherly treatment of a sore shin made Tom Elmers a respectable member of society and a daily encounter with him something to be looked forward to.
“It might have broken a bone,” said the girl in a hushed voice. “You ought to go straight to bed, Mr. Blake.”
Jimmy exchanged glances with Ferdie.
“I'm sorry I can't go to bed,” said Jimmy meekly, “I have an important board meeting to-night—not a board meeting—I mean a”
“A little supper party,” suggested Ferdie helpfully.
She looked grave.
“Are you going on this—adventure?” she asked.
“It is not so much an adventure, Miss Sennett,” interrupted Ferdie. “It's a little look round. Don't you be worried about him. I'll bring him back safe and sound.”
“Miss Sennett isn't worried about me,” said Jim coldly. “She is no more interested in my coming back safe and sound than she is about you.”
Ferdie's young face went blank with astonishment.
“Ain't you engaged?” he asked in surprise, and that was his crowning indiscretion of the evening.
“But my dear old thing, you call her by her Christian name.” This in the privacy of the study five minutes later. “I thought she was a great friend of yours, and really the Florence Nightingale way she bandaged your hairy old leg”
“You're an ass, Ferdie,” wailed Jimmy. “Don't you see how unfortunate your remark was? You've made her feel very uncomfortable.”
“Suppose I go and apologize to her?”
“Suppose you don't,” said Jimmy shortly.
The soreness to his shin remained, but by practice he found that it did not impede his power of locomotion, though it might conceivably affect him when he came to climbing. He was determined to make his attempt that night, and it seemed that the girl was equally determined that he should not. He dropped all pretense of having an engagement and went about the task of sitting her out. By half past twelve everybody was yawning except Delia, who was as cool and as fresh as though she had wakened from a long and dreamless sleep.
“It is late, I shall go to bed,” said Jimmy desperately at last, and made a significant sign to his fellow conspirator.
“I think that is a very excellent idea, Mr. Blake,” said Delia calmly. “You don't know how safe I feel here with you and Mr. Ponter in the house. I think if I woke up in the night and heard your car going off I should faint from sheer terror.”
“Oh, yes,” said Jimmy uncomfortably. “Then, you see, we've no intention of going out, have we, Ferdie?”
“None whatever,” said Mr. Ponter glibly.
When Jimmy woke up the next morning with his leg so stiff that he could hardly bear his weight upon it, he was grateful that the girl had had her way. He was not feeling at all easy about Tom Elmers. The man was in the neighborhood, and the knowledge of this fact had been a stronger argument for not leaving Delia alone than any she had offered. He did not for one moment imagine that she would fall into a panic if he left her alone in the house, for “alone” was a term which implied in this case the protection of two maidservants, a valet, and the butler.
He hobbled down to breakfast late. Ferdie, who had preceded him by only a few minutes, cast a reproachful glance in his direction.
“Jimmy, you're going to be late for church,” he said.
“For church?” said Jimmy in amazement. “Is it Sunday?”
“Of course it's Sunday.” Delia looked at him reprovingly as she filled his cup. “And Mr. Ponter has very kindly offered to take me to church.”
“How sweet of Mr. Ponter!” said Jimmy savagely. “Good Lord, Sunday!”
“Don't you ever go to church?” she asked severely.
“Frequently.”
“Well, you're coming this morning, of course?” she said. “The Bishop of Fleet is preaching at St. Gregory's.”
Jimmy looked at her. “The bishop of what?”
“The Bishop of Fleet.”
The name vividly recalled the luncheon party at Downing Street.
“He was one of the fellows at the prime minister's party,” explained Jimmy. “What the dickens is he doing so far out of his diocese? What is the matter, Ferdie?”
Mr. Ferdinand Ponter was frowning.
“The Bishop of Fleet? That's old Stillman! He was the head of my school. 'Squirrel' we called him. Good Lord, I can't go and hear him spout theology. The mere mention of his name makes a cold shiver go down my spine.”
“He was head, was he?” said Jimmy interested. “Was he strong on the classical side?”