“He's smoking,” said Sylvia. “Well, nothing makes much difference to you men, as long as you can smoke. I'd like to know what you'd do in my place.”
“Have you got anything on your mind, Sylvia?”
“Didn't I say I hoped I had? Everybody has something on her mind, unless she's a tarnation fool, and I ain't never set up for one.”
Henry did not speak again.
Chapter XIV
The next morning at breakfast Rose announced her intention of going to see if Lucy Ayres would not go to drive with her.
“There's one very nice little horse at the livery-stable,” said she, “and I can drive. It is a beautiful morning, and poor Lucy did not look very well yesterday, and I think it will do her good.”
Horace turned white. Henry noticed it. Sylvia, who was serving something, did not. Henry had thought he had arrived at a knowledge of Horace's suspicions, which in themselves seemed to him perfectly groundless, and now that he had, as he supposed, proved them to be so, he was profoundly puzzled. Before he had gone to Horace's assistance. Now he did not see his way clear towards doing so, and saw no necessity for it. He ate his breakfast meditatively. Horace pushed away his plate and rose.
“Why, what's the matter?” asked Sylvia. “Don't you feel well, Mr. Allen?”
“Perfectly well; never felt better.”