Still we were very silent, and under the knowledge which had come to me the night before, the silence was even more oppressive than usual.
‘This is delicious!’ I exclaimed at last; ‘worth coming farther than three miles to enjoy. This will do you good, Margaret.’
‘Yes,’ she sighed. ‘What would one not give for a little of it occasionally during these hot nights!’
‘You do not sleep well,’ I said, struck by a sudden impulse.
She coloured as I addressed her; but that is nothing new.
‘I don’t think I sleep badly,’ she replied, after a pause. ‘I seldom lie awake for any length of time, but—’
‘But when you rise in the morning, you feel unrefreshed and tired.’
‘How do you know that?’ she demanded quickly.
‘I guessed it, Margaret. I guess it from your looks, your demeanour, your languor. I know that you do not rest properly at night, and that if you will not take seasonable advice you will be ill.’
‘I am not ill,’ she answered in a low voice.