"I believe you have been sitting up writing poetry," Geoffrey laughed.
"Indeed, I had a very long night's rest," Marion responded. "And I can't imagine why I look so pale and washed-out this morning!"
"Bad dreams and an evil conscience," Vera suggested demurely.
Marion laughed. Usually at meal times the young people had the conversation entirely to themselves. Sometimes the elders joined in; sometimes they listened and smiled at the empty badinage; usually they were wrapped in their gloomy thoughts. Ralph's face had the expression of a stone idol, yet he followed every word that was said with intense and vivid interest.
"Bad dreams, indeed," Marion admitted. "They were with me all night. It seemed to me that I was wandering about all night looking for something. And I had nothing on but my nightdress. In India as a child I used to walk in my sleep. I hope I am not going to do that again."
Marion laughed and passed on to another subject. Curiously enough, she seemed to shrink from speaking of her life in India. Of her dead parents she would discourse freely; of her own early life she said nothing. It had always seemed to Geoffrey that Marion's childhood had been unhappy. There was an air of gentle melancholy when her features were in repose, an air far older than her years.
Meanwhile Ralph had been following all this keenly. He appeared to be interested in his breakfast. The streaming sunshine filtered through the great stained glass windows full upon his scarred face; his head was bent down upon his plate.
But the man's mind was at work. He had his opportunity to speak to Geoffrey presently.
"You will do," he said approvingly. "Keep up that easy, cheerful manner of yours. Whatever happens, try to ignore it; try to keep up that irresponsible boyish manner. You will find it invaluable in disarming suspicion later, when one false move may dash all our delicate plans to the ground."
"I will do anything you require of me, uncle."