d his
chair.

But she shook her head with a smile.

"No, no. It will be all right in the morning."

But when he saw her in the morning, he knew at once that this prophecy
had not been fulfilled. She met his anxious scrutiny with a smile
indeed, but her heavy eyes belied it. He knew that she had spent a
sleepless night.

"It wasn't my hand that kept me awake," she protested, when he charged
her with this.

But Babbacombe was dissatisfied.

"Do see a doctor. I am sure it ought to be properly dressed," he urged.
"I'll take you myself in the motor, if you will."

She yielded at length to his persuasion, though plainly against her
will, and an hour later they drove off together, leaving the rest of the
party to follow the hounds.

At the park gate they overtook West, walking swiftly. He raised his hat
as they went by, but did not so much as look at Cynthia.

A sudden silence fell upon her, and it was not till some minutes had
passed that she broke it.

"Shall I tell you what kept me awake last night, Jack?" she said then.
"I think you have a right to know."

He glanced at her, encountering one of those smiles, half-sad,
half-humorous, that he knew so well. "You will do exactly as you
please," he said.

"You're generous," she responded. "Well, I'll tell you. I was busy
burying my poor foolish little romance."

A deep glow showed suddenly upon Babbacombe's face. He was driving
slowly, but he kept his eyes fixed steadily upon the stretch of muddy
road ahead.

"Is it dead, then?" he asked, his voice very low.

She made a quaint gesture as of putting something from her.

"Yes, quite; and buried decently without any fuss. The blinds are up
again, and I don't want any condolences. I'm going out into the sun,
Jack. I'm going to live."

"And what about me?" said Babbacombe.

She turned in her quick way, and laid her hand upon his knee.

"Yes, I've been thinking about you. I am going back to London to-morrow,
and the first thing I shall do will be to find you a really good wife."

"Thank you," he said, smiling a little. "But you needn't go to London
for that."

"Oh, shucks!" said Cynthia, colouring deeply. "There's more than one
woman in the world, Jack."

"Not for me," he said quietly.

She was silent for a space. Then:

"And if that one woman is such a sublime fool, such an ungrateful little
beast, as not to be able to--to love you as you deserve to be loved?"
she suggested, a slight break in her vo