"Cecil...?" she said.
"Yes, my girl," he answered flippantly; "this wary old rat is going to nip into the trap after the excellent bit of cheese you baited it with this morning. Now don't—don't—for God's sake, don't make a fuss!" he ended irritably.
But Sophy had flung herself on her knees beside the bed, hiding her face—regardless of veil and hat. Her voice, smothered in the bedclothes, reached him faintly:
"I'm not going to—don't be afraid— I'm not going to— I only wanted to thank—to thank——"
"Me?" asked Chesney sardonically, yet with a hungrily tender look back of his eyes that were bent on the crushed brown-velvet hat.
"No— God!" said Sophy softly.
Then she rose to her feet again.
"I won't try to say anything," she murmured. "I think you know what I am feeling——"
"Mh— I couldn't go that far. Women are sealed volumes to an average chap like me. Or, if they aren't sealed, they're written in some hierophantic script that's beyond the poor layman."
He took suddenly a more natural tone.