return. Do you get that? Until they return."

"You'll want me back by tea-time, sir?" ventured Rollo.

"Wait," St. George repeated, "until they return. At three. Or six.
Or nine o'clock. Or midnight."

"Very good, sir," said Rollo impassively, "it ain't always wise,
sir, for a man to trust to his own judgment, sir, asking your
pardon. His judgment," he added, "may be a bit of the ape left in
him, sir."

St. George smiled at this evolutionary pearl and settled himself
comfortably by the open fire to await Rollo's return. It was after
three o'clock when he reappeared. He brought a note and St. George
feverishly tore it open.

"Whom did you see? Were they civil to you?" he demanded.

"I saw a old lady, sir," said Rollo irreverently. "She didn't say a
word to me, sir, but what she didn't say was civiler than many
people's language. There's a great deal in manner, sir," declaimed
Rollo, brushing his hat with his sleeve, and his sleeve with his
handkerchief, and shaking the handkerchief meditatively over the
coals.

St. George read the note at a glance and with unspeakable relief.
They would see him. A refusal would have delayed and annoyed him
just then, in the flood-tide of his hope.