“Why?”
“Pride or revenge, or something. Don’t let’s talk about it.”
“All right. I want some breakfast; we left town by the 7.20. I’m starving.”
“Who are ‘we’?”
“Miss Grant and I. I thought Rosamund would be wanting a chaperon or a bridesmaid, or something, so I brought her and her bicycle.”
“Always thoughtful,” said Andrew, with something like a laugh.
Presently, strolling along the sea-wall they met the two girls. Rosamund looked radiant. Where was the pale, hollow-eyed darling of last night? The wind that ruffled her brown hair had blown roses into her cheeks.
“Do you forgive me?” whispered Stephen when they met.
“That depends,” she answered.
They all walked on together, and presently Stephen and Constance fell behind.