with a gesture so like old Adeline's that Eden's apology was marred by mirth. He repeated: "I say I'm sorry for what I said—about Alayne, and all that."
Renny had caught nothing but the name of Alayne. He stopped the car with a jerk and gave Eden a look of mingled encouragement and suspicion.
"Yes?"
"If I have to repeat it again," said Eden, sulkily, "I'll take it back. I was trying to apologize for what I said about Alayne." He continued with a frown: "The fact is, I'm absolutely fed up with being grateful. I've spent the summer oozing gratitude to Alayne. It's got on my nerves. I suppose that's why I said what I did. I'd no right to say it, but—it's true, and you shouldn't mind that. She'd go through hell—and being under the same roof with me is a fair imitation of hell for her—for the sake of setting eyes on your red head once in a while. She can't help it . . . I can't help it . . . we're caught in a net. . . . She's not suited to any Whiteoak that ever lived. But neither of you can ever be happy as things are. I want you to believe I'm sorry—horribly sorry."
Renny said: "I hope this affair hasn't given you any cold. If you feel a chill we must have the doctor to you. You mustn't be running risks."
He started the car and concentrated once more on that dubious, jerky movement in its interior. What could it be? He was afraid the time was at hand when he would have to buy a new car.
Eden slouched in his corner. What a baffling devil! If only one could take him apart as one could the car, and find out what was inside! A queer, fiery, cantankerous interior, he'd be bound!
