I glanced at my hostess, who was busily arranging with those near her at table for a driving party to visit the Haywards at Dodington Park, and wondered whether she could be aware of the strange midnight visitant. I contrived to have a brief chat with her after breakfast was finished, but she appeared in entire ignorance of what had transpired during the night. I lit a cigarette, and as usual strolled around for a morning visit to the kennels with Sir Henry. On returning I saw my well-beloved seated beneath one of the great trees near the house, reading a novel. The morning was hot, but in the shade it was delightful. As I crossed the grass to her she raised her head, and then, smiling gladly, exclaimed—
“Why, I thought you’d gone to Dodington with the others, Doctor Colkirk?”
“No,” I answered, taking a chair near her; “I’m really very lazy this hot weather.”
How charming she looked in her fresh cotton gown and large flop-hat of Leghorn straw trimmed with poppies.
“And I prefer quiet and an interesting book to driving in this sun. I wonder they didn’t start about three, and come home in the sunset. But Nora’s always so wilful.”
Though as merry as was her wont, I detected a tired look in her eyes. Where had she been during the long night—and with whom? The silence was only disturbed by the hum of the insects about us and the songs of the birds above. The morning was a perfect one.
“I found it very oppressive last night,” I said, carefully approaching the subject upon which I wanted to talk to her. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out here into the park.”
“Into the park?” she echoed quickly, and I saw by her look that she was apprehensive.
“Yes. It was a beautiful night—cool, refreshing, and starlit.”
“You were alone?”