will often induce sleep--a fact proved by incidents of his
campaigns--so he trudged up and down and opened his window and let
the cool breath of the night chill his forehead and breast for five
minutes.

This action calmed him, and he headed himself off from returning
to the subject. He felt that mental dread and discomfort were
only waiting to break out again; but he smothered them, returned
to bed, and succeeded in keeping his mind on neutral-tinted
matter until he fell asleep.

He woke again before he was called, rose and went to his bath. He
took it cold, and it refreshed him and cleared his head, for he
had a headache. Everything was changed, and the phantoms of his
imagination remained only as memories to be laughed at. He no
longer felt alarm or anxiety. He dressed presently, and guessing
that Tom, always the first to rise, might already be out of doors,
he strolled on to the terrace presently to meet him there.

Already he speculated whether an apology was due from him to May,
or whether he might himself expect one. It didn't matter. He knew
perfectly well that Tom was all right now, and that was the only
thing that signified.




CHAPTER III

AT THE ORIEL