She turned on him eyes that were all troubled up, like waters suddenly wind-blown.
"God!" she said, her fingers, nails inward, closing about his arm.
"Wheeler—can—can the—dead—speak?"
But fleeting as the hours themselves were the moods of them all, and the following morning there they were, the eight of them, light with laughter and caparisoned again as to hampers, veils, coats, dogs, off for a day's motoring through the springtime countryside.
"Where to?" shouted Wheeler, twisting from where he and Hester sat in the first of the cars to call to the two motor-loads behind.
"I thought Crystal Cave was the spot"—from May Denison in the last of the cars, winding her head in a scarlet veil.
"Crystal Cave it is, then."
"Is that through Demopolis?"
Followed a scanning of maps.
"Sure! Here it is! See! Granite City. Mitchell. Demopolis. Crystal
Cave."
"Good Lord! Hester, you're not going to spend any time in that dump?"