He sat up, rubbing his eyes.
"Poor beggar!" he chuckled. "Oh, it's rich!"
Then he sobered.
"But—were you mad, Nell? To make up bogeys in your mind and go rushing off like that—"
"I don't know, Denis," she said humbly. "I don't know what was the matter with me to-day. I—I never was so silly at home. I felt sort of funny all day, I think."
He was frowning.
"I don't like it at all—your going off to Lancaster like that! It was jolly decent of Herr Schmidt to go with you. You ought to have known better, Nell."
"Yes."
He looked at her irritatedly.
"Don't be so beastly meek! You know you've been awfully idiotic all round. And you've made me look a most consummate fool, and"—his mouth widened again in spite of himself—"you've slanged poor Lancaster most unwarrantably. It was awfully rude, you know, and quite mad. He really hasn't been leading your little twin astray. As a matter of fact, it was he who squashed my idea of making money by going in for big lotteries. He's got a level head, and he reasoned it all out on paper and proved some way or other that I stood, ten to one, or a hundred to one, or something, to lose in the end. I've only been teasing you when I talked about going in for them. I didn't know you were bothering about it. And I never thought of the beastly things when I scrawled that note off to you. I've never been in for any sweepstake or thing of that kind except that one I told you of. I hope you think you've made enough fuss all round about nothing!"