Westmore bade her good-night, kissing her hand—awkwardly—not being convincing in any rôle requiring attitudes.
He wanted to take her into his arms, but seemed to know enough not to do it. Probably she divined his irresolute state of mind, for she extended her hand in a pretty manner quite unmistakable. And the romantic education of James H. Westmore began.
Barres lingered at the door after Westmore departed, obeying a whispered aside from Dulcie. She 390 came out in a few moments, carefully closing the bedroom door, and stood so, one hand behind her still resting on the knob.
“Thessa is crying. It’s only the natural relaxation from that horrible tension. I shall sleep with her to-night.”
“Is there anything——”
“Oh, no. She will be all right.... Garry, are they—are they—in love?”
“It rather looks that way, doesn’t it?” he said, smiling.
She gazed at him questioningly, almost fearfully.
“Do you believe that Thessa is in love with Mr. Westmore?” she whispered.
“Yes, I do. Don’t you?”