A few minutes later he came sauntering leisurely around the corner. One would have said he had been spending an hour in the garden, and was now going in.
"Good morning, Miss Blyth! glorious day, isn't it? going to sling a hammock? let me do it, won't you?"
Vesta Blyth looked at him with sombre eyes. "I couldn't hold it!" she said, unwillingly. "There is no strength left in my hands."
"You are still tired, you see," said Geoffrey, cheerfully, as he picked up the hammock. "That's perfectly natural."
"It isn't natural!" said the girl, fiercely. "It's devilish!"
"This is a good place," said Geoffrey, paying no attention to her. "Combination of shade and sun, you see. Pillow at this end? There! how is that?"
"Thank you! it will do very well."
She stretched herself at full length in the hammock. Her movements were perfectly graceful, he noted; and he made a swift comparison with the way his cousins flounced or twittered or slumped into a hammock.
[Illustration: He stood looking at her, his hand still on the hammock rope.]
He stood looking at her, his hand still on the hammock-rope. He was conscious only of a friendly feeling of compassion for this fair young creature, built for vigour and an active life, now condemned for months, it might be years, of weariness and pain. Whether any unconscious keenness of scrutiny crept into his eyes or not, is not known; but as Vesta Blyth looked up and met their gaze, a wave of angry crimson rushed over her face and neck.