you happy, and Sheilah happy, too. And,' she added with grim honesty in the same breath with her lie, 'T think it will.'
'Do you really?' eagerly, like a boy, Roger took her up. No, she hadn't suspected, nor expected, either. 'I want very much to make Sheilah happy,' he added.
'I know you do. I understand perfectly, Roger.'
'Oh, you're such a good friend of mine, Cicely,' he exclaimed.
Friend? Friend indeed!
Roger began pacing up and down the little room, plying Cicely with countless questions as to the details of Felix's death, to most of which she was forced to reply with forbearing patience. 'I don't know. I didn't ask. Sheilah didn't say.'
He left her half an hour later at her suggestion. He had planned to stay till the next afternoon, returning to Boston as was his custom, on Sunday evening.
'But this news has rather upset you, it seems to me,' Cicely had remarked as she watched him walking up and down the little book-lined cell, in which, as her guest, he was a prisoner till she set him free. 'Most men like to get out from underneath a roof when they're upset,—tramp, or something of the sort. Why don't you? Or, if you prefer, go back to Boston to-night, Roger, and come up another time.'
