When he looked again March stood at the bedside gazing down into the girl's face. It was as if his presence there were palpable to her. She opened her eyes sleepily, smiled a fleeting contented smile and held up her arms to her lover. He smiled, too, and bent down and kissed her. Then as the arms that had clasped his neck slipped down he straightened, nodded to John and went back to the door. John followed and for a moment, outside the room, they talked in whispers.
"I'm going home now," March said. "To my father's house—not the other place. There's a telephone there if she wants me. But I'll call anyhow before I go to Ravina this afternoon."
It was he, this time, who held out his hand.
"You can trust her with me in the meantime, I think," John said as he took it, but the irony of that was softened by a smile. March smiled, too, and with no more words went away.
Her eyes turned upon John when he came back into the room, wide open but still full of sleep. When he stood once more beside her bed a pat of her hand invited him to sit down upon the edge of it.
"He really was here, wasn't he?" she asked. "I wasn't dreaming?"
"No, he was here," John said.
Her eyelids drooped again. "I'm having the loveliest dreams," she told him. "I suppose I ought to be waking up. What time is it?"
"It's still very early. Only about half past eight. Go back to sleep."
"Have you had breakfast? Pete's wife, out in the garage, will come in and get it for you."