Skipworth note the hesitation. Did the old people get panicky at the
thought of entertaining a wild man from Virginia, and send an SOS for
Gerald, he wondered.

"We are so glad you could come to us," Lady Sherwood said rather hastily
just then. And again he could not fail to note that she was prompting
her husband.

The latter reluctantly turned round, and said, "Yes, yes, quite so.
Welcome to Bishopsthorpe, my boy," as if his wife had pulled a string,
sand he responded mechanically, without quite knowing what he said.
Then, as his eyes rested a moment on his guest, he looked as if he would
like to bolt out of the room. He controlled himself, however, and,
jerking round again to the fireplace, went on murmuring, "Yes, yes,
yes," vaguely--just like the dormouse at the Mad Tea-Party, who went to
sleep, saying, "Twinkle, twinkle, twinkle," Cary could not help thinking
to himself.

But after all, it wasn't really funny, it was pathetic. Gosh, how
doddering the poor old boy was! Skipworth wondered, with a sudden twist
at his heart, if the war was playing the deuce with his home people,
too. Was his own father going to pieces like this, and had his mother's
gay vivacity fallen into that still remoteness of Lady Sherwood's? But
of course not! The Carys hadn't suffered as the poor Sherwoods had, with
their youngest son, Curtin, killed early in the war, and now Gerald
knocked out so tragically. Lord, he thought, how they must all bank on
Chev! And of course they would want to hear at once about him. "I left
Chev as fit as anything, and he sent all sorts of messages," he
reported, thinking it more discreet to deliver Chev's messages thus