She re-appeared, radiant in a moleskin cap and furs, and then they both awkwardly remembered—he, that he had made no inquiry about Weston, and she, that she had said nothing of Gertrude Marvell's hurried departure.
"Your poor maid? Tell me about her. Oh, but she'll do well. We'll take care of her. France is an awfully good doctor."
Her eyes thanked him. She gave him a brief account of Weston's state; then looked away.
"Do you know—that I'm quite alone? Gertrude went up to town this morning?"
Winnington gave a low whistle of astonishment.
"She had to—" said Delia, hurriedly. "It was the office—they couldn't do without her."
"I thought she had undertaken to be your chaperon?"
The girl coloured.
"Well yes—but of course—the other claim came first."
"You don't expect me to admit that," said Winnington, with energy. "Miss Marvell has left you alone?—alone?—at a moment's notice—with your maid desperately ill—and without a word to me, or anybody?" His eyes sparkled.