"How do you feel now? Is the pain any better?" asked Beryl, looking at him with grave anxiety, and quite forgetting to be angry with him for calling her "the Duchess."
"Yes, it is better than it was, but I feel rather seedy," said Percy, shaking back the long loose locks that were falling over his forehead. "This is a pretty go, isn't it? It's a confounded bore to think that I can't get to London to-day! I'm awfully vexed not to be at school on the first day. I shall get put down in my form. And you're sorry not to get rid of me to-day, aren't you?"
"No, I am not sorry," said Beryl, without a moment's hesitation, though her cheeks grew red as she spoke.
"Don't tell polite fibs; it's not like you to do that," said Percy. "I know you looked as pleased as Punch the other day when I said that I should go home on Monday."
"Yes; but then—" began Beryl; but suddenly stopped, not finding it easy to explain that her feelings towards him had changed since that day.
"Do you mean that you have changed your mind since then?" asked Percy, looking at her curiously. "Do you know, Beryl, I believe you like me better than you think? I know I saw your eyes near brimming over last night when I was in such pain."
"Nonsense," said Beryl; "don't be absurd!"
"There is nothing absurd in mentioning a fact that passed under my own observation," said Percy calmly. "Come, you can't deny that you were inclined to cry over this miserable foot of mine."
Beryl was silent for a few moments, and Percy watched her with a smile which was not satirical.
"Won't you eat your grapes?" said Beryl suddenly, feeling that the silence had lasted quite long enough.