“Ah, yes,—Monday—well,” reflectively, “next Monday, my dear.”
Mrs. Drayton rose, and began to pace softly the narrow passage between the table and the tent-wall, her hands clasped loosely behind her.
“How long have you known this?” she said, stopping abruptly. “Oh, John, you needn't consider; it's quite a simple question. To-day? Yesterday?”
Her foot moved restlessly on the ground as she waited.
“I think it was the day before yesterday,” he replied.
“Then why in Heaven's name didn't you tell me before?” she broke out fiercely.
“My dear, it slipped my memory. If I'd thought you would be interested——”
“Interested?” She laughed shortly. “It is rather interesting to hear that after six months of this”—she made a quick comprehensive gesture with her hand—“one will have some one to speak to—some one. It is the hand of Providence; it comes just in time to save me from——” She checked herself abruptly.
He sat staring up at her stupidly, without a word.
“It's all right, John,” she said, with a quick change of tone, gathering up her work quietly as she spoke. “I'm not mad—yet. You—you must get used to these little outbreaks,” she added after a moment, smiling faintly, “and to do me justice, I don't often trouble you with them, do I? I'm just a little tired, or it's the heat or—something. No—don't touch me,” she cried, shrinking back, for he had risen slowly and was coming towards her.