"How do you mean? How did I think he was looking? It has knocked him about a bit certainly. I got quite a shock at first when I saw him, but he declares he feels splendid, and he talked no end. I hope it hasn't tired him awfully." "You know perfectly well what I mean. What did he say to you about that night?" She hated herself for asking the question, and hated Guy also for making her ask it. "He said nothing at all about it." "What?" cried Trixie, amazed and incredulous. "Fact," said Guy, and nodded his head, regarding her gravely. "I tell you I was in a blue funk when I got your note, and you told me nothing as to how the land lay. You might at least have let me know that everything was all serene. He never mentioned the subject, and, of course, I wasn't going to begin." Trixie's natural gumption failed her for once. In the moment of sudden reaction, following on her suspense and emotion, the fact escaped her that Guy was assuming she had put matters right--had explained the whole thing to the colonel's complete satisfaction. "But"--the words came from her lips involuntarily--"I felt certain he had sent for you to ask you about it!" "Good Lord! then you hadn't told him?" They gazed at each other in mutual discomfiture. "And he said he wished I'd take you for a drive because you'd been bottled up looking after him all this time and it would do you good. By gad," he concluded, "he's a stunner, and to think that we ever imagined----" "How dare you say 'we'!" cried Trixie unfairly. "Didn't I tell you it showed how little you knew him?" "Well, you needn't rub it in," he protested; "and if it comes to that----" Trixie flushed, and her eyes filled with tears. "Yes, I know," she said helplessly, "it's no use pretending----" For a few moments they stood silent, so motionless that a grey squirrel whisked across the grass between them and shot up the nearest tree elated with his own daring. Daylight was fading rapidly, in a short time it would be dark; the sultry heat of the evening seemed to grow more oppressive. Insects were humming around them, and bats had begun to swoop low over the lawn. Guy Greaves broke the pause. "I suppose," he said indiscreetly, "it's too late now for a drive." "_A drive!_" echoed Trixie, with scorn. "I'm going in now to tell George what I think of myself--and him." "And what about me?" asked the boy, a forlorn sort of humour pervading his tone. "You don't count," Trixie told him with heartless candour. "Nobody in the world counts with me except George." She moved towards the bungalow, a slender white form in the dusk. Guy watched her go up the steps; then he gave a little wistful sigh and summoned his trap.