"Babs," he said; "have you forgiven me?"
Her answer came, without turn of head, natural, indifferent:
"Yes--I told you so."
"Is that all you have to say to a fellow?"
"What shall we talk about--the running of Casetta?"
Deep down within him Harbinger uttered a noiseless oath. Something
sinister was making her behave like this to him! It was that
fellow--that fellow! And suddenly he said:
"Tell me this----" then speech seemed to stick in his throat. No! If
there were anything in that, he preferred not to hear it. There was a
limit!
Down below, a pair of lovers passed, very silent, their arms round each
other's waists.
Barbara turned and walked away towards the house.
CHAPTER XI
The days when Miltoun was first allowed out of bed were a time of
mingled joy and sorrow to her who had nursed him. To see him sitting up,
amazed at his own weakness, was happiness, yet to think that he would
be no more wholly dependent, no more that sacred thing, a helpless
creature, brought her the sadness of a mother whose child no longer
needs her. With every hour he would now get farther from her, back into
the fastnesses of his own spirit. With every hour she would be less his
nurse and comforter, more the woman he loved. And though that thought
shone out in the obscure future like a glamorous flower, it brought too
much wistful uncertainty to the present.
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