Chapter 73

So—too—with his father. Probyn had grown more silent, a little more wooden in his movements, less sententious in his son’s presence, and yet there was in his silence a something that his civic urbanity had lacked. And there were details in and about the house that Lance should have noticed, and did notice so far as youth pays attention to such things; his rooms kept just as they had been in the old days, the flowers on his writing-table, a kind of tacit acceptance of him and his temperament and his work. Windover w…