And it was there, stretched out upon that little strip of grass, that I lay and slept the other afternoon. Bellwattle's voice it was that wakened me.
She was talking to Cruikshank on the other side of the fuchsia hedge. A garden seat is there under the nut trees, where once or twice in the warm days we have had our tea.
"There is something the matter," she was saying—"what is it? Is your indigestion all wrong?"
My eyes half opened. My lips half smiled.
"My indigestion is never right," said Cruikshank. "Even my digestion is not what I could wish it at times."
"Well—you know what I mean," said she. "Is it bad?"
"No."
"Then what's the matter? You're depressed?"
I began to feel the sleep clearing from my eyes. I had remembered that sudden glimpse of Cruikshank between the curtains only a few nights before. Another moment, I should have been sitting up and calling out to them that I was within hearing; but sleep was there still in every muscle of my body.
"P'r'aps I am depressed," said Cruikshank.