Roger awoke the following morning in a repentant mood. Slowly and painfully he marshalled the facts of the preceding evening, dim and hazy some of them, while others stood out with humiliating and alarming distinctness. And the more he analysed them, the more unpleasantly he became aware that Judith had been in deadly earnest. In his first hopelessness, he caught illogically at one faint chance. His sister's great fear seemed to be that this latest escapade might leak out. The fight had been the starting point of all her amazing change of front. Well, he could prevent it from leaking out, by swallowing his pride. Perhaps after all he had been over-hasty.
Accordingly, acting on this new resolution, Roger caught Faxon's eye as they were rising from table, and nodded.
The latter waited. Roger reddened slightly, and was silent until the others were out of earshot. Then he held out his hand.
"I'm sorry, Joe," he said manfully. "I'm a damn fool when I've got a load. I hope you'll forget anything I may have said or done."
Faxon took the extended hand a little surprisedly.
"Surest thing you know, Roger. And I'm sorry too. I struck at a sober man—you understand, don't you? I was too hasty. One forgets. He hears things—and acts before he thinks. Bad business—but it's over and we'll bury it."
"That's particularly what I want," said Wynrod, with what seemed to Faxon rather unnecessary earnestness. "Absolutely buried. I don't want it to get out at all. I can depend upon Baker...."
"And you can depend upon me," said Faxon heartily. "I won't breathe a whisper."
"Thanks." They shook hands gravely, and after an embarrassed little pause, Roger excused himself and went to hunt up his sister.
"About that stuff last night—are you still in earnest?" he asked doggedly, but not unpleasantly.