She stretched out her hand and laid it on his arm. He turned to her with a start, roused from his weariness and his reverie.
"Dear Andy, have you learnt what we have, I wonder? Not yet, I expect!"
"What do you mean, Doris?"
"Trust in you. A certainty that you'll bring it off!" She laughed—a little nervously. "I've a professional eye for a situation. Try for a double victory to-morrow! Make a really fine day for yourself—one to remember always!" She drew her hand away with another nervous laugh; her clear soft voice had trembled.
Andy's inward feelings leapt to utterance. "Have you any notion of what I feel? I—I'm up against him in everything! It's almost uncanny. And I think he'll beat me in this. At least I suppose you mean—?"
"Yes, I mean that." Her voice was calm again, a little mocking. "But I shall say no more about it."
Andy pressed her hand. "I like to have your good wishes more than anybody's in the world," he said, "unless, perhaps, it were his, Doris. Don't say I told you, but he grudges me the seat. He'd grudge me the other thing worse, much worse."
"Oh, but that's quite morbid. It's all his own fault."
"Yes, I suppose so. But he's never been to you what he has to me." He smiled. "We at Meriton still have to please Harry, and to have him pleased with us. The old habit's very strong."
"Heavens, Andy, you wouldn't think of sacrificing yourself—and perhaps her—to an idea like that?"