CHAPTER XV
"Ferlie," said Cyprian, one morning, pushing back his chair from the breakfast-table, "are you feeling all right?"
"Feeling all—what do you mean?"
"You're not, then?"
Her smile was uncertain.
"Don't be silly! Why should I be feeling wrong?"
"That's just what I have been asking myself for more than a week. The Hot Weather is not nearly upon us yet."
"I'm quite well," she insisted listlessly.
"Then, what is the matter?"