“One of my old attacks you mean?” She laughed lightly. “Indeed, no! I haven’t had one in ever so long. It is nothing that a good, early sleep won’t put right. I suppose it is no use to ask you to stay overnight, George?”
He shook his head.
“Must be at the office early to-morrow. I’ll catch the ten-forty train to town. Good night, Leila. Sleep well.”
“Good night.” She touched her husband’s cheek softly with her finger-tips as she passed him, and he felt that they were icy cold. “Put on your coat if you go to the station with George, dear; these early Spring nights are deceptive.”
Deceptive! And she, who had never lied to him before in the ten years of their married life, was going to her rest with a falsehood between them! Storm felt as if someone had struck him suddenly, unfairly between the eyes. The fact in itself was a staggering one, but a score of questions beat upon his brain. Why, if she wished to conceal her errand to town, had she not been content merely to deny her presence there? Why drag in the Ferndale Inn and Julie Brewster?
As if his thoughts had in some way communicated themselves to his companion, the latter asked suddenly:
“What sort of a place is this Ferndale Inn, Norman?”
“Oh, the usual thing. Imitation Arcadia at exorbitant prices. Why?”
“Oh, I’ve heard things.” The tip of Holworthy’s cigar described a glowing arc as he gestured vaguely. “I guess it is quiet enough; Leila wouldn’t see anything wrong there in a million years unless she happened to run into some of her own set in an indiscreet hour. I’m informed that it is quite a rendezvous for those who are misunderstood at their own firesides.”
“George, you’re getting to be a scandal-monger!” Storm laughed shortly, his thoughts still centered on his problem. “The Inn is under new management this season, and anyway you needn’t take a crack at our set out here. They’re up-to-date, a bit unconventional, perhaps, but never step out of bounds. The trouble with you, old man, is that you’re old-fashioned and narrow; you don’t get about enough——”