"Have you?" she said.
"Yes."
"Do you--would you rather sleep there to-night?"
She did not mean to say it. It was the last thing she wished to say. Yet
she said it. It seemed to her that she was forced to say it.
"Well, it's much cooler there."
She was silent.
"I could just put one or two rugs and cushions on the seat by the wall,"
he said. "I shall sleep like a top. I'm awfully tired!"
"But--but the sun will soon be up, won't it?"
"Oh--then I can come in."
"All right."
"I'll take the rugs from the sitting-room. I say--how's Artois?"
"Much better, but he's still weak."
"Poor chap!"
"He'll ride up to-morrow on a donkey."
"Good! I'm--I'm most awfully sorry about his rooms."
"What does it matter? I've made them quite nice already. He's perfectly
comfortable."
"I'm glad. It's all--it's all been such a pity--about to-day, I mean."
"Don't let's think of it! Don't let's think of it any more."
A passionate sound had stolen into her voice. She moved a step towards
him. A sudden idea had come to her, an idea that stirred within her a
great happiness, that made a flame of joy spring up in her heart.
"Maurice, you--you----"
"What is it?" he asked.
"You aren't vexed at my staying away so long? You aren't vexed at my
bringing Emile back with me?"
"No, of course not," he said. "But--but I wish you hadn't gone away."
And then he disappeared into the sitting-room, collected the rugs and
cushions, opened the French window, and went out upon the terrace.
Presently he called out: "I shall sleep as I am, Hermione, without undressing. I'm awfully done.
Good-night."
"Good-night!" she called.
There was a quiver in her voice. And yet that flame of happiness had not
quite died down. She said to herself: "He doesn't want me to know. He's too proud. But he has been a little
jealous, perhaps." She remembered how Sicilian he was.
"But I'll make him forget it all," she thought, eagerly.
"To-morrow--to-morrow it will be all right. He's missed me, he's missed
me!"
That thought was very sweet to her. It seemed to explain all things; this
constraint of her husband, which had reacted upon her, this action of his
in preferring to sleep outside--everything. He had always been like a
boy. He was like a boy now. He could not conceal his feelings. He did not
doubt her. She knew that. But he had been a little jealous about her
friendship for Emile.