“You would have known if it hit you nor not.”
“Well, it might have been the top of the stove. The molding was sharp.”
“But how did you fall against the stove?” Helen persisted.
Festing did not want to tell her about the fight with Wilkinson. He had resolved to say nothing about the matter until morning.
“I tripped. There was a chair in the way and it caught my foot.”
Helen did not look altogether satisfied, but let the matter go.
“Has the hail done much damage to the wheat?”
“Yes,” said Festing, with grim quietness. “I imagine it has done all the damage that was possible. So far as I could see, the crop's wiped out.”
They were sitting near together, and Helen, leaning forward, put her hand on his arm with a gesture of sympathy.
“Poor Stephen! I'm dreadfully sorry. It must have been a blow.”