"Oh, I shan't do that. Work is good
for me. Isn't this sand too awful for words?"
She spoke with a determined effort to assume the old careless
attitude towards him, but the nervous flush on her cheeks betrayed
her.
He put his hand on her shoulder, and wheeled her round somewhat
suddenly towards the light. "You didn't sleep last night," he said.
She tried to laugh, but she could not check the hot flush of
embarrassment that raced into her pale cheeks under his look. "I
couldn't help it," she said. "I was rather wound up yesterday.
It--was an exciting day, wasn't it?"
He continued to look at her for several seconds, intently but not
sternly. Then very quietly he spoke. "Sylvia, if things go wrong,
if the servants upset you, come to me about it! Don't go to Guy!"
She understood the reference in a moment. The flush turned to
flaming crimson that mounted in a wave to her forehead. She drew
back from him, her head high.
"And if Schafen or any other man comes to you with offensive gossip
regarding my behaviour, please kick him as he deserves--next time!"
she said. "And then--if you think it necessary--come to me for an
explanation!"
She spoke with supreme scorn, every word a challenge. She was more
angry in that moment than she could remember that she had ever been
before. How dared he hear Schafen's evidence against her, and then
coolly take her thus to task?
The memory of his kiss swept back upon her as she spoke, that kiss
that had so cruelly wounded her, that kiss that had finally rent
the veil away from her quivering heart.
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