Saton wondered afterwards many times at the extraordinary nonchalance with which he faced the remainder of that terrible day. He wrote several letters, and was aware that he wrote them carefully and well. He had his usual evening bath and changed his clothes, making perhaps a little more careful toilet even than usual.
“The country suits you, Bertrand,” she said. “It suits you better than it does me. You walk like a boy, and there is color in your cheeks.”
“The sun,” he muttered. “I always tan quickly.”
“Where have you been to?” she asked.
“I have been walking with Miss Champneyes,” he answered.
Rachael nodded.
“And your friend at Beauleys?” she asked, with a little sneer. “What if he had seen you, eh? You are very brave, Bertrand, for he is a big man, and you are small. I do not thi
