“I wish I could, but I’ve got to do a leader and a meeting.”
“Sorry. I can’t help, can I?”
“No indeed, thanks just the same. Good-night.”
III
In a few minutes there was silence. Few people went by that way at night unless there happened to be a vessel at the station wharf or freight trains running late. Riders might pass after the hotels were closed. Men rarely worked in the evening in the nearest stores on the town side. Occasionally sounds from the houses at the back drifted in. Valerie was gladly conscious of the quiet, but it did not help her much.
These occasionally devastating headaches were the one blot upon her otherwise vigorous health. Once past a certain point they accumulated pain with express speed, and reduced her to nausea and utter helplessness. She knew no cure but to lie down and take a big dose of aspirin. Then at the end of an hour she was all right again. But she had used up her stock of tablets and the chemist was now closed. As the copy had to be ready for Ryder at half-past eight in the morning it could not be put off, and she knew she must fight the pain as best she could. She began to write slowly struggling against it. But her head dropped in spite of her. She felt as if she were going to faint.
The opening of the door stimulated her to raise her face. She had not heard steps. In a mist she saw Dane Barrington looking at her over the high counter.
“Why, Miss Carr, what is the matter? You look beastly ill.” He came quickly round to her.
She tried to keep her head up. “It’s only a headache, and I must work.” She never wondered why he was there.
