"To-morrow, please."
"But—"
"As long as you say that all is well I refuse to lose any more sleep!"
"Are you sleepy, Yellow-hair?"
"I am."
"Aren't you going to sit up and chat for a few—"
"I am not!"
"Have you no curiosity?" he demanded, laughingly.
"Not a bit. You say everything is all right. Then it is all right—when Kay of Isla says so! Good night!"
What she had said seemed to thrill him with a novel and delicious sense of responsibility. He heard her door close; he stood there in the stone corridor a moment before entering his room, experiencing an odd, indefinite pleasure in the words this girl had uttered—words which seemed to reinstate him among his kind, words which no woman would utter except to a man in whom she believed.