This time he approached the recumbent one determinedly. She was awake the
instant he touched her shoulder.

"Oh," she murmured, sitting erect and looking about, bewildered. "Is
it--has he--oh, you are still here? Has he come?"

"No, Miss Dering, he is not here," and added, under his breath, "damn
him!" Then aloud, "The train is coming."

"And he didn't come?" she almost wailed.

"I fancy you'd better try to sleep until morning. There's nothing to stay
awake for," although it came with a pang.

"Absolutely nothing," she murmured, and his pride took a respectful tumble.

As she began to rearrange her hair, rather clumsily spoiling a charming
effect, he remonstrated.

"Don't bother about your hair." She looked at him in wonder for an
instant, a little smile finally creeping to her lips. He felt that she
understood something. "Maybe he'll come after all," he added quickly.

"What are you doing with my parasol?" she asked sleepily.

"I'm carrying it to establish your identity with Dudley if he happens to
come. He'll recognize the purple parasol, you know."

"Oh, I see," she said dubiously. "He gave it to me for a birthday present."