“A dead branch falling,” he replied.
They listened again, but all they heard was the sound of the orchestra and the voices of the dancers.
“You’re teaching me a lesson in patience,” Crabb began again soberly. “I can wait, of course. I’m not jealous of him,” he said. “I was only wondering how you could think of him at all.”
“I don’t think of him—not in that way. I believe I haven’t thought of him at all—until to-night. To-night, I can’t help thinking of others less fortunate than ourselves. I suppose it’s only the natural thing that he should suffer. He never seemed to get things right, somehow; his point of view was always askew. He was a wild boy—but he was human.”
She paused and clasped her hands before her. Crabb sat silent beside her, but his brow was clouded. When he spoke it was in a voice low and constrained.
“Do you think it kind—wise to speak of this now?”
“I was thinking that perhaps if he’d had a little luck——”
“He might have come back to you?”
Patricia turned toward him and with a swift movement took one of his hands in both of hers.
“Don’t speak in that way,” she pleaded. “You mustn’t.”