In thinking of the beloved maidens he did not think of them as marble.
Before he went to sleep Dion had realized that, since Rosamund was awake, the reason for his coming to the spare room did not exist. Nevertheless he did not go to their bedroom that night. Robin’s little dry cough still sounded in his ears. To-night was Robin’s kingdom.
In a day or two Robin was better, in a week he was perfectly well. If he had not chanced to catch cold, would Rosamund have worn that new evening-gown at the Carlton dinner?
On that question Dion had a discussion with Daventry which was disagreeable to him. One day Daventry, who had evidently been, in silence, debating whether to speak or not, said to him:
“Oh, Dion, d’you mind if I use a friend’s privilege and say something I very much want to say, but which you mayn’t be so keen to hear?”
“No, of course not. We can say anything to each other.”
“Can we? I’m not sure of that—now.”
“What d’you mean?”
“Oh, well—anyhow, this time I’ll venture. Why did Rosamund throw us over the other night at almost the last moment?”
“Because Robin was ill.”