"Barry understands," she said with quick loyalty; "he mourns her too--but he doesn't need her as I do." It was an undeniable truth that reduced Peters to silence and for a while Gillian also was silent. Then she turned to him again with a little tremulous smile, the colour flooding her delicate face.
"I'm glad it was only you, David, just now. Please forget it. I don't know what's the matter with me to-day, I let my nerves get the upper hand--I'm tired--the sun was hot----"
"So of course you sent the carriage away and proposed walking two miles home by way of a rest cure!" he interrupted, jumping up with alacrity, and taking advantage of the turn in the conversation. "Luckily I've got the car. Plenty of room for you and the pampered one." And waving aside her protests he tucked her into the little two-seater, bundling Mouston unceremoniously in after her.
The village school was near the church, and while Peters steered the car carefully through groups of children who were loitering in the road she sat silent beside him, wondering, in miserable self-condemnation, how much she had betrayed during those few moments of hysterical outburst. Resolutely she determined that she would be strong, strong enough to put away the dread that haunted her, strong enough to meet trouble only when it came.
Clear of the children and running smoothly through the park Peters condescended to break the silence.
"How went Scotland?" he asked, slowing down behind a frightened fawn who was straying on the carriage road and cantering ahead of the car in panicky haste. "Your letters were not satisfactory."
"I wasn't taught to write letters. I never had any to write," she said with a smile that made the sensitive man beside her wince. "I did my best, David, dear. And there wasn't much to tell. There were only men--Barry said he couldn't stand women with the guns again after the bother they were last year. They were nice men, shy silent creatures, big game hunters mostly, and two doctors who have been doing research work in Central Africa. When any of them could be induced to talk of their experiences it was a revelation to me of what men will endure and yet consider enjoyment. You would have liked them, David. Why didn't you come? It would have done you more good than that horrid little yacht. And we were alone the last two weeks--we missed you," she added reproachfully.
Peters had had his own reasons for absenting himself from the Scotch lodge, reasons that, connected as they were with Craven and his wife, he could not enlarge upon. He turned the question with a laugh.