"I hope you're feeling better."
"Better! I haven't been ill," she flashed.
Betty helped him out.
"Last night Mrs. Sinclair told us you had a headache."
"You ought to know, Betty, that means I was tired."
But George noticed she no longer looked at him. She hurried on.
"Dolly!" he heard her laugh. "You must have sat up rather late."
"Trying to forget my worry about you, Sylvia. Guess it gave me your headache."
George shrugged his shoulders and edged away, measuring his chances of seeing her alone. They were slender, for as usual she was a magnet, yet luck played for him and against her after luncheon, bringing them at the same moment from different directions to the empty hall. She wanted to hurry by, as if he were a disturbing shadow, but he barred her way.
"I suppose I should say I'm sorry I hurt you last night. I'll say it, if you wish, but I'm not particularly sorry."