Chapter 12

Probyn rose rather hurriedly, leaving the paper on the round table. It is probable that he saw his opportunity in the emptiness of the lounge. He held out a hand. “After all these years—surely? I heard from Conrad. I was—distressed.” John Pybus made no attempt to take his son’s hand, and Probyn, with an expostulating and embarrassed smile, withdrew it. “Well, as you please. I wished to make the first move. Are we unreconcilable? It seems a pity.” Old Pybus watched his son’s face. “Lunching here?” “No, at the White …