I am not a deserving object for your charity."
She laughed a trifle breathlessly.
"Say, Mr. West, couldn't you put that into words of one syllable? You
try, and perhaps then I'll listen to you, and give you my views as
well."
But West remained rigorously unresponsive. It was as if he were thinking
of other things.
Cynthia uttered a little sigh and turned to go.
"Good-bye, Mr. West!" she said.
He went with her to the door.
"Shall I walk back with you?" he asked formally.
She shook her head.
"No. I'm better now, and it's quite light still beyond the trees.
Good-bye, and--thank you!"
"Good-bye!" he said.
He followed her to the gate, opened it for her, and stood there watching
till he saw her emerge from the shadow cast by the overarching trees.
Then--for he knew that the rest of the journey was no more than a few
minutes' easy walk--he turned back into the house, and shut himself in.
Entering the room he had just quitted, he locked the door, and there he
remained for a long, long time.
VII
It was not till she descended to dinner that Cynthia's injured hand was
noticed.
She resolutely made light of it to all sympathisers but it was plain to
Babbacombe, at least, that it gave her considerable pain.
"Let me send for a doctor," he whispered, as she finally passed his
chair.
But she shook her head with a smile.
"No, no.
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