He woke. His hand searched for her hand. At his touch she drew it away,
and moved from under her cramped shoulder the thick, warm braid of her
hair. It tossed a gleam of pale gold to the risen light. She felt his
drowsy, affectionate fingers pressing and smoothing the springy bosses of
the braid.

The caress kindled her dull thoughts to a point of flame. She sat up and
twisted the offending braid into a rigid coil.

"Walter," she said, "_who_ is Lady Cayley?"

She noticed that the name waked him.

"Does it matter now? Can't you forget her?"

"Forget her? I know nothing about her. I want to know."

"Haven't you been told everything that was necessary?"

"I've been told nothing. It was what I heard."

There was a terrible stillness about him. Only his breath came and went
unsteadily, shaken by the beating of his heart.

She quieted her own heart to listen to it; as if she could gather from
such involuntary motions the thing she had to know.

"I know," she said, "I oughtn't to have heard it. And I can't believe
it,--I don't, really."