Cosden started to speak and then paused, looking at her narrowly to make certain that by no possible construction could any answer of his be twisted into an invitation to drive to St. George's, or to some other point equally remote.
"Your remark shows that you and Mr. Huntington have much in common," he observed at length.
"Ability to sleep is an evidence of a clear conscience," she asserted.
"Which explains my restless nights, and the necessity of making up my quota at the wrong end," Huntington said.
"But you come from New England, Mr. Huntington," Edith expostulated. "I've always heard a lot about the New England conscience."
"I'll wager you never heard anything good about it," Huntington smiled.
"Does it ever really keep any one from doing the things he wants to do?" she asked mischievously.
"No," Huntington answered gravely; "it simply makes him very uncomfortable while he's doing them."
"I thought your sleeplessness might be caused by anxiety lest that precious nephew of yours forget to take the boat this morning," Cosden remarked dryly.
Huntington was quietly amused. "How about you?" he asked.