“Mother,” said Michael, “would you mind if I stayed the night over at Richmond?”
“To-night?” Mrs. Fane echoed in astonishment.
“Well, perhaps not to-night,” conceded Michael unwillingly. “But to-morrow night?”
“To-morrow night by all means,” Mrs. Fane agreed.
“Nothing has happened?” she asked anxiously. “You seem so flushed and strange.”
“I’m just the same as usual,” Michael declared. “It’s hot in this room. I think I’ll take a short walk.”
“But you’ve been out all the afternoon,” Mrs. Fane protested.
“Oh, well, I’ve nothing to do at home.”
“You’re not feverish?”
“No, no, mother,” Michael affirmed, disengaging his parched hand from her solicitous touch. “But you know I often feel restless.”