“Kathie is often pale. You do look white to-day, my dear,” he observed, turning anxiously toward his wife.
“Do I?” she replied. The unsteadiness of her tone was hardly appreciable, but it was not lost on Broomhurst’s quick ears. “Oh, I don’t think so. I feel very well.”
“I’ll come and see if they’ve fixed you up all right,” said Drayton, following his companion toward the new tent that had been pitched at some little distance from the large one.
“We shall see you at dinner then?” Mrs. Drayton observed in reply to Broomhurst’s smile as they parted.
She entered the tent slowly, and, moving up to the table already laid for dinner, began to rearrange the things upon it in a purposeless, mechanical fashion.
After a moment she sank down upon a seat opposite the open entrance, and put her hand to her head.
“What is the matter with me?” she thought, wearily. “All the week I’ve been looking forward to seeing this man—any man, any one to take off the edge of this.” She shuddered. Even in thought she hesitated to analyse the feeling that possessed her. “Well, he’s here, and I think I feel worse.” Her eyes travelled toward the hills she had been used to watch at this hour, and rested on them with a vague, unseeing gaze.
“Tired Kathie? A penny for your thoughts, my dear,” said her husband, coming in presently to find her still sitting there.
“I’m thinking what a curious world this is, and what an ironical vein of humour the gods who look after it must possess,” she replied, with a mirthless laugh, rising as she spoke.
John looked puzzled.