“Yes, I think you can—darling,” she whispered, into his shoulder a few moments later. “In fact—you have.”
“This is a strange sort of surrounding for such a climax—my own,” he murmured—after an interval. “A fusty, dusty old office.”
“Well, and what could be more appropriate,”—she returned—“under the circumstances.”
The while Prior had sent at least two damning Government transport—riders away, using dreadful language because being after office hours they could not get their way-bills checked, and wondering what was the blanked use of blanked Resident Magistrates or blanked blanked Civil servants blanked anyhow.
Evelyn Carden got up in obedience to the summons, to go to her relative. “You don’t mind, do you, dear?” she said, with her usual tactful consideration.
“No—no. Of course not,” answered Edala, yet still conscious of that faint remaining twinge of jealousy. But the two had become drawn to each other like sisters now. They had been through strange experiences together, and each had come fully to rate the other at her own worth.
The room was cool and restful if not luxurious. Thornhill’s tall form lay there under the coverlet, a pathetic embodiment of strength laid low. Even the bandages round his head, unsightly as all bandages are, did not detract from the reposeful dignity of that calm strong face. Evelyn stooped and kissed him on the cheek, taking, in her cool grasp, the hand which was searching for hers.
“Well Inqoto, and you are much better now?” she said, and there was a sort of cooing softness about the tone.
“No—I am not particularly—by the way, you seem to have got your tongue round that dick at last.”