“I don’t know anything about men,” she said with all the simplicity of a child. “I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings. I wouldn’t want to do that. I’ve always liked you. Why can’t we be friends?”
“That will suit me, perfectly,” he said. “As a matter of fact, Lorna, that’s all we can be.”
“I know it,” she replied, turning away. “Let’s not be foolish again. Dad told me something to-day and I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to mention it—your appointment on the history staff.” Her voice had resumed its customary tone. “You’re awfully lucky, Mauney. Dad has unbounded faith in your ability. I just thought I’d mention it. Aren’t you terribly happy about it?”
“I can’t tell,” he said slowly. “I’m not in a mood to lie just now. I’m not happy just now. I’m most unreasonably sad.”
CHAPTER IV.
Mauney and Freda Have a Talk.
Mauney could not sleep that night when he had returned to his room. For two hours he tossed restlessly on his bed when, finding sleep utterly impossible, he got up, put on his slippers and dressing gown to descend to the dining room, where the hostess and Stalton and two strangers, one a man the other a woman, were seated at cards around the table. Mrs. Manton looked up at the sound of his slippered step.
“Well, look what God has sent us,” she softly exclaimed. “If you have any money you’d better get into the game, Mauney.”
She introduced the strangers.