It is my
own, and fairly earned, and that is enough."
"Dear old dad!" Harold squeezed his gnarled hand. "And you, mother!
You have lifted the trouble from my heart. I feel another man. You
have saved my honor, my good name, everything. I cannot owe you more,
for I owe you everything already."
So while the autumn sunset shone ruddily through the broad window these
three sat together hand in hand, with hearts which were too full to
speak. Suddenly the soft thudding of tennis balls was heard, and Mrs.
Westmacott bounded into view upon the lawn with brandished racket and
short skirts fluttering in the breeze. The sight came as a relief to
their strained nerves, and they burst all three into a hearty fit of
laughter.
"She is playing with her nephew," said Harold at last. "The Walkers
have not come out yet. I think that it would be well if you were to
give me that cheque, mother, and I were to return it in person."
"Certainly, Harold. I think it would be very nice."
He went in through the garden. Clara and the Doctor were sitting
together in the dining-room. She sprang to her feet at the sight of
him.
"Oh, Harold, I have been waiting for you so impatiently," she cried; "I
saw you pass the front windows half an hour ago.
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