“All right, I shall simply shake hands and go.”
So, with the consequent sense of relief that high resolve always brings, Cameron lay down again and fell into slumber and dreams of home.
From these dreams of home Mandy recalled him with a summons to dinner. As his eye, still filled with the vision of his dreams, fell upon her in all the gorgeous splendour of her Sunday dress, he was conscious of a strong sense of repulsion. How coarse, how crude, how vulgar she appeared, how horribly out of keeping with those scenes through which he had just been wandering in his dreams.
“I want no dinner, Mandy,” he said shortly. “I have a bad head and I am not hungry.”
“No dinner?” That a man should not want dinner was to Mandy quite inexplicable, unless, indeed, he were ill.
“Are you sick?” she cried in quick alarm.
“No, I have a headache. It will pass away,” said Cameron, turning over on his side. Still Mandy lingered.
“Let me bring you a nice piece of pie and a cup of tea.”
Cameron shuddered.
“No,” he said, “bring me nothing. I merely wish to sleep.”