'It's really about that that I looked in to see you,' he said.
'If we do that, things may go hardly with us before the war is over.
If the Allies win they'll win by the blockade.
There won't be much to eat in any German territory.'
Howard stared at the little man in wonder. 'I suppose not.'
He had not credited Cavanagh with such cool courage.
'It's the children,' the other said apologetically.
'We were thinking - Felicity was wondering... if you could possibly take them back to England with you, when you go.'
He went on hurriedly, before Howard could speak: 'It's only just to take them to my sister's house in Oxford, up on Boars Hill.
As a matter of fact, I could send her a telegram and she could meet you at Southampton with the car, and drive them straight to Oxford.
It's asking an awful lot, I'm afraid.
If you feel you couldn't manage it... we'll understand.'
Howard stared at him.
'My dear chap,' he said, 'I should be only too glad to do anything I can to help.
But I must tell you, that at my age I don't stand travel very well.
I was quite ill for a couple of days in Paris, on my way out here.
I'm nearly seventy, you know.
It would be safer if you put your children in the care of somebody a little more robust.'
Cavanagh said: 'That may be so.
But as a matter of fact, there is nobody.
The alternative would be for Felicity to take the children back to England herself.'
There was a pause.
The old man said:
'I see.
She doesn't want to do that?'
The other shook his head.
'We want to be together,' he said, a little pitifully.
'It may be for years.'
Howard stared at him.
'You can count on me to do anything within my power,' he said.
'Whether you would be wise to send the children home with me is something that you only can decide.
If I were to die on the journey it might cause a good deal of trouble, both for your sister in Oxford and for the children.'
Cavanagh smiled. 'I'm quite prepared to take that risk,' he said.
'It's a small one compared with all the other risks one has to take these days.'
The old man smiled slowly.
'Well, I've been going seventy years and I've not died yet.
I suppose I may last a few weeks longer.'
'Then you'll take them?'
'Of course I will, if that's what you want me to do.'
Cavanagh went away to tell his wife, leaving the old man in a flutter.
He had planned to stay in Dijon and in Paris for a night as he had done on the way out; it now seemed to him that it would be wiser if he were to travel straight through to Calais.
Actually it meant no changes in his arrangements to do that, because he had booked no rooms and taken no tickets.
The changes were in his plans; he had to get accustomed to the new idea.
Could he manage the two children by himself, or would it be wiser to engage a village girl from Cidoton to travel with them as far as Calais to act as a bonne?
He did not know if a girl could be found to come with them.
Perhaps Madame Lucard would know somebody...
It was only later that he realised that Calais was in German hands, and that his best route across the Channel would be by way of St Malo to Southampton.
He came down presently, and met Felicity Cavanagh in the salon.
She caught his hand.
'It's so very, very kind of you to do this for us,' she said.