Richard laughed. "That's right. Try to make the best of it. Well, if you're not coming in——"
"Not for an hour or longer."
"Then—good night. I must be up early. I think I'll sleep down at the Smoke House. I'm so glad about Gallatin—just as much obliged as if you'd done it for me. And I believe you did." He put his arms round her to kiss her good night. As soon as his lips touched her cheek she drew away, disengaged herself. "What's the matter, Courtney?" She had long since learned that for all his absent-mindedness and ignoring of things that didn't directly interest him, he became as sensitive—and as accurate—as photographic plate to light, the instant his attention happened to be caught. "What's the matter? Why do you draw away?"
"I don't know," replied she—truthfully, yet with a sense of being untruthful. "I seem not to like to be touched to-night."
"I don't remember you being that way before."
She went on with her exercises; he yawned and departed.
VIII
The morning after Courtney and Basil came to this clear and promising understanding, she got down to the seven-o'clock breakfast perhaps ten minutes late. She expected to find the two men and Winchie there, and was thinking of asking Gallatin to go to town with her and Winchie. When she entered the dining room, there was the table in its usual morning place, in the wide-flung door windows to the cast, and at it sat Winchie only, sunbeams sifting through the trellised morning glories to dance upon his shock of tawny hair.
"Where are the others?" she asked.
Winchie, forgetful of his teaching, had his mouth full, far too full for immediate speech—unless he gulped it empty, and that would have been breaking another rule. So Lizzie, who was just entering from the kitchen hall, answered: "Mr. Richard telephoned up at half past six, and made me wake Mr. Gallatin. They had breakfast down at the Smoke House long ago."