Augusta was murmuring something about a horse—Renny—he had been so sorry—his apologies.
"Yes? Oh, it is too bad, of course. Say good-bye to him for me."
"Oh, he will see you again," said Ernest. "He's driving you into town himself to-morrow."
No peace for her. The feverish speculations, the aching thoughts, would begin all over again.
She said: "Tell him not to trouble. Finch will drive me in, won't you, Finch?"
"I'd like it awfully."
"What do you suppose, Alayne?" cried Wake. "I've never been on a visit."
"What a shame! Will you visit me some time? I'd love to have you." She pressed him to her, on the sofa, and whispered: "Tell me, where is Renny?"
He whispered back: "In the stables, I know, because he sent Wright to the kitchen for something, and I was there."
Finch was to see her back to the Hut. He ran upstairs for his electric torch.
Alayne was enfolded in the arms of Augusta, Nicholas, and Ernest.
Ernest said: "How shall we ever repay you for what you have done for Eden?"
Nicholas growled: "How shall we ever make up to her for what he has done? Turned her life topsy-turvy."
Augusta said, holding her close: "If you change your mind about coming to England with me, just let me know. I'll make you very welcome."
"I advise you not to," said Nicholas. "She'll freeze you in that house of hers."
"Indeed I shan't! I know how to make people comfortable if anyone does. It was I who arranged the cottage for her, though Mama took all the credit." From her was exhaled a subdued odour of the black clothes she wore, and of a hair pomade with the perfume of a bygone day.
Finch and Alayne were out in the darkness, the beam from the electric torch thrown before her. Cold, sweet
