"As I'm almost sure she will," affirmed Mrs. Jervaise.

And she must have put something of genuine confidence into her statement,
for automatically we all stopped talking for a few seconds and listened
again with the ears of faith for the return of the car.

"But as I said," Olive began again, abruptly ending the unhopeful suspense
of our pause, "there's nothing more we can do by sitting up. And there's
certainly no need for you to overtire yourself, mother."

"No, really not," urged Ronnie politely, "nor for you, either, sir," he
added, addressing his host. "What I mean is, Frank and I'll do all that."

"Rather, let's get a drink," Frank agreed.

We wanted passionately to get away from each other and indulge ourselves
privately in a very orgie of gapes and stretchings. And yet, we stuck
there, idiotically, making excuses and little polite recommendations for
the others to retire, until Frank with a drastic quality of determination
that he sometimes showed, took command.

"Go on, mater," he said; "you go to bed." And he went up to her, kissed
her in the mechanical way of most grown-up sons, and gently urged her in
the direction of the stairs. She submitted, still with faint protestations
of apology.

Olive followed, and with a last feint of hospitality, her father brought
up the tail of the procession.