Randal had left his shaded lamp burning on the writing-table. And there, shining head bent over the table and lit by the broad circle of light, her body shaken with suppressed sobbing, was Amaryllis.
Dick was close to her before he realized that she had not heard his approach. Gently he touched her arm.
Without starting, she looked round at him, and he saw the tears on her face.
"Excuse my butting in," he said. "Do tell me what's the matter."
The girl tried to speak and failed.
"I'm a stranger to almost everybody here," he said. "When you're in a hole, the stranger's about the best man to take troubles to."
Amaryllis shook her head.
"Come, let's see if I can't help," pleaded Dick.
In her mind Amaryllis, as she felt the tender concern of his voice, and looked up into the brown face above the white shirt-front, was struck with a consoling sense of protection, and knew that, while he was the last person she could "take her trouble to," yet his was the sympathy which would most surely soften, if it could not remove, any misfortune which could ever befall her.
"I can't—I can't! I wish I could," she said, winking her eyes. "But I'm going to be good. Please be a dear, Mr. Bellamy, and go back to the hall. I shall be all right soon."