"
"That's odd. It goes faster."
"Anyhow, you're not tired of London?"
She stared at him for a second and then looked away.
"Oh no, I'm not tired of it yet."
They turned.
"Shall you stop long here?"
"I'm going back to-morrow."
"To-morrow? You're so glad to get back then?"
"So glad to get back. I only came down for Mary's wedding."
He smiled.
"You won't come for anything but a wedding?"
"A funeral might fetch me."
"Well, Gwenda, I can't say you look as if London agreed with you
particularly."
"I can't say you look as if Garthdale agreed very well with you."
"I'm only tired--tired to death."
"I'm sorry."
"I want a holiday. And I'm going to get one--for a month. _You_ look
as if you'd been burning the candle at both ends, if you'll forgive my
saying so."
"Oh--for all the candles I burn! It isn't such awfully hard work, you
know."
"What isn't?"
"What I'm doing."
He stopped straight in the narrow path and looked at her.
"I say, what _are_ you doing?"
She told him.
His face expressed surprise and resentment and a curious wonder and
bewilderment.
"But I thought--I thought----They told me you were having no end of a
time."
"Tunbridge Wells isn't very amusing. No more is Lady Frances."
Again he stopped dead and stared at her.
"But they told me--I mean I thought you were in London with Mrs.
Cartaret, all the time."
She laughed.
"Did Papa tell you that?"
"No.
Pages:
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265