Burke's faint smile showed for a moment; he said nothing.
"How you must worship her!" went on Kelly, with amiable effusion.
"Some fellows have all the luck. Sure, you're never going to let
that sweet angel languish here like that poor little Mrs. Merston!
You wouldn't now! Come, you wouldn't!"
But Burke passed the matter by. He had pressing affairs on hand, and obviously it was not his intention to discuss his conduct towards his wife even with the worthy Kelly whose blundering goodness so often carried him over difficult ground that few others would have ventured to negotiate.
He left Kelly to dress, and went back to the bungalow where Sylvia was busy with a duster trying to get rid of some of the sand that thickly covered everything. He had scarcely spoken to her that morning except for news Of Guy, but now he drew her aside.
"Look here!" he said. "Don't wear yourself out!"
She gave him a quick look. "Oh, I shan't do that. Work is good for me. Isn't this sand too awful for words?"
She spoke with a determined effort to assume the old careless attitude towards him, but the nervous flush on her cheeks betrayed her.
He put his hand on her shoulder, and wheeled her round somewhat suddenly towards the light. "You didn't sleep last night," he said.
She tried to laugh, but she could not check the hot flush of embarrassment that raced into her pale cheeks under his look. "I couldn't help it," she said. "I was rather wound up yesterday. It—was an exciting day, wasn't it?"
He continued to look at her for several seconds, intently but not sternly. Then very quietly he spoke. "Sylvia, if things go wrong, if the servants upset you, come to me about it! Don't go to Guy!"