But now Renny discovered those who were waiting for him. He pressed his way through the straggling family and went eagerly to meet his sister and his three brothers. He had expected that Eden and Piers would be there, possibly one of his uncles, but he had not expected young Finch. The sight of Meg was a happy surprise. And looking just the same — after all she had been through! Her complexion as fresh, her hair the same soft light brown, the curve of her lips as full and affectionate. Her lips parted in a tremulous smile when she saw him and she raised her two arms ready for the embrace. Now he had her in his, pressing her close. He felt that there was perhaps a little more body to her. She had, he guessed, put on six or eight pounds in his absence.
“Oh, Renny, my dear, how thankful I am!” She clung to him, unwilling to surrender him to the others. He was her own, her very own brother. They had had the same mother. As she pressed him to her the painful imaginings of what might happen to him in the War melted away and her one thought was — “I have him safe, and quite unchanged.”
But while she savoured the first joy of this reunion she saw, over Renny’s shoulder, the figure of Maurice — looked straight into his eyes. She had not known he was returning with her brother. She had not given him a thought.
Renny felt her go rigid in his arms. Then she burst into tears.
“It’s all right, old girl,” he said, his voice husky “I’ve come home and you’ll never get rid of me again.”
“It’s not that,” she sobbed. “It’s Maurice. I can’t meet him! Please don’t ask me to.”
Renny screwed round his head and gave his friend a distracted look. Then he loosed himself from Meg’s arms and returned swiftly to Maurice. He said:
“Look here, I can’t ask you to come with me. Meggie’s too upset, seeing me again and all that.”
Maurice, very white, returned — “Seeing me again and all that, you mean! Never mind, I’ll go on a local train. It’s all right. Tell Meg I’m sorry to have appeared at such an inopportune time.”
His sympathy torn between the two, Renny exclaimed, almost in exasperation:
“Do what you think best and don’t talk like a fool!”
“It’s true and you know it. Well, I’ll see you later. Lord, how those boys have grown.”
“Haven’t they! The car will be packed. Will you take Wragge with you? I’ll send for him when we get home.”
“Righto.” Maurice turned away, the lightness of his tone contrasting with his look of hurt. The Cockney, Wragge, followed him, his shrewd eyes having absorbed the strangeness of the meeting. He threw all he could of devotion into the parting glance he gave Renny Whiteoak. He had been his batman in the War and now his look said — “Whatever ’appens you can count on me, sir.”
Renny rejoined his family. Meg had conquered her agitation and taking his arm drew him toward the three young brothers eagerly waiting to greet him. He kissed each in turn.
They had so developed since he had last seen them that it required an effort of will to place each in the cherished niche where he belonged. It was hard to tell which had changed most. He grinned, almost in embarrassment, as he looked into their three faces.
If it was a matter of mere growth Piers had it, he decided. From a sturdy little boy of less than eleven he had grown to a strapping youth of almost fifteen, with broad shoulders and head well set on a strong neck. His full blue eyes were bold and there was a look about his mouth that hinted that he would not be too eager to do what he was bid. And his hands — well, they looked ready for anything — muscular, brown, vigorous.
But could he give the palm to Piers with Eden standing there, almost as tall as himself? He had last seen Eden as a slender, fair boy of fourteen and here he was a man and almost too good-looking for he was like his poor mother who, if she had not been so delicate, would have been beautiful. Of the three young brothers Eden gave Renny the most eager, the warmest welcome, gripping his hand, looking into his eyes with a swift, penetrating glance.
Finch had changed the least; but even he was grown almost out of recognition. His hand lay small and thin in Renny’s. His teeth looked big and new between his parted lips.
“Hello!” he breathed. “Hello! I thought I’d come to meet you.”
“Good fellow.” Renny still held his hand as they all moved through the station.
Again the family which had impeded his entrance appeared on the scene. The man had placed a heavily shod foot on a bench and, elbow on knee, was staring over the heads of his family, whistling through his teeth, while children and wife in dumb resignation waited to see what he would do next. Renny nudged Meg, with a nod in their direction.
“Poor things,” she exclaimed. “How happy they are.” She smiled at the children, then glanced apprehensively over her shoulder. Her brow cleared as she saw that the crowd had closed between her and the figure of Maurice Vaughan.
Porters had arrived with Renny’s luggage. Eden and Piers were fastening the trunk to the back of the car. It had been washed for the occasion and though Renny disliked it he gave a glance of approval at it. He, Meg, and the small boy got into the back seat. Eden was a good driver. They sped smoothly along the road that lay beside the lake. It was noonday and there was little traffic once they reached the suburbs. Then there were trees in their budding leaves in front of the houses and, glimpsed between them, the lake, fluttering little bright waves.
This moment which Renny had so often pictured, strained toward in homesickness, now seemed unreal. The scene, the backs of the two youths in the front seat, the thin body of the child beside him, the clasp of Meg’s hand across the child’s knees, might, he thought, dissolve into the vapour of a dream and he find himself once more in France, with war the only reality. His weather-seasoned profile looked so aloof to Meg that she leant toward him and asked:
“Aren’t you happy to be home?”
He pressed her fingers and nodded. She felt that he was thinking that their father would not be waiting to welcome him. She herself had got used to the loss but of course it was fresh to Renny. She said in her peculiarly comforting intonation:
“We’ve made such preparations for you! Gran and the uncles and Aunt Augusta have been counting the hours till you come. Everything has been done — even to washing the dogs.”
“It’s grand to be home!” Again his hand pressed hers. He grinned down into Finch’s face. “Eh, Finch? What do you think of me?”
The colour rose to Finch’s forehead. He could not speak. Meg spoke for him.
“You’re a hero to Finch. Of course, you’re a hero to all of us but you know what small boys are. Who do you think he is like, Renny?”
Renny’s vivid brown eyes scrutinized the child’s long, sensitive face. “I’m damned if I know. Well, he’s got the Court nose. He’s got grey-blue eyes. Who has grey-blue eyes in our family?”
“No one. Both his parents’ eyes were blue. Isn’t Eden like his mother? But so different in disposition. He’s full of character. I can tell you, Renny, those two in the front seat are a handful. I shall be glad to have your help with them. They’ve wills of iron.”
The elder brother’s eyes turned to the two pairs of well-shaped shoulders, the bright hair and strong necks of the two. “They had better not try any of the iron-will stuff on me,” he said.
As though conscious that they were being talked about, Eden and Piers glanced toward each other, the first with a mocking smile, the second with a look half mischievous, half daring. Eden increased the speed of the car, for they were now driving between the lake