It will be all right in the morning."
But when he saw her in the morning, he knew at once that this prophecy
had not been fulfilled. She met his anxious scrutiny with a smile
indeed, but her heavy eyes belied it. He knew that she had spent a
sleepless night.
"It wasn't my hand that kept me awake," she protested, when he charged
her with this.
But Babbacombe was dissatisfied.
"Do see a doctor. I am sure it ought to be properly dressed," he urged.
"I'll take you myself in the motor, if you will."
She yielded at length to his persuasion, though plainly against her
will, and an hour later they drove off together, leaving the rest of the
party to follow the hounds.
At the park gate they overtook West, walking swiftly. He raised his hat
as they went by, but did not so much as look at Cynthia.
A sudden silence fell upon her, and it was not till some minutes had
passed that she broke it.
"Shall I tell you what kept me awake last night, Jack?" she said then.
"I think you have a right to know."
He glanced at her, encountering one of those smiles, half-sad,
half-humorous, that he knew so well. "You will do exactly as you
please," he said.
"You're generous," she responded. "Well, I'll tell you. I was busy
burying my poor foolish little romance."
A deep glow showed suddenly upon Babbacombe's face. He was driving
slowly, but he kept his eyes fixed steadily upon the stretch of muddy
road ahead.
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