“It’s only because I haven’t slept,” Sydney hastened to assure him.
“Then what are you getting up for?” Roy went on.
“I must go down town. I have that to do which will ease my mind, and make me all right again, I trust.”
The last words were added in so low a tone as to be scarcely audible.
“Oh, Syd, what is it? What is worrying you? Can’t I help you in any way?”
“No, Roy, you cannot now. Perhaps—later—I will need—need your pity.”
“Pity! Oh, Syd, you do not know what you say.”
“Don’t, Roy. I have a hard task to perform; do not, I beg of you, make it harder.”
Roy said no more; he would not after this. He went back to his own room and went over in his mind all that had befallen them since they had been what the world called wealthy.
“Not one bit happier, though; no, not as happy,” he added for himself.