Good-bye! Take care of
yourself." Muriel's hand rested for an instant on his arm, and then
she was gone--a slim, short-skirted figure walking swiftly over the
grass.
He stood leaning on the gate watching her till a clump of trees
intervened between them, then lazily he straightened himself and began
to stroll back up the garden. He was not smoking. His face wore a
heavy, almost a sullen, look. He scarcely raised his eyes from the
ground as he walked.
Nearing the house the sudden sound of a window being raised made
him look up, and in an instant, swift as a passing cloud-shadow, his
moodiness was gone. Daisy was leaning on her window-sill, looking down
upon him.
Though she had not spoken to him for weeks, she gave him no greeting.
Her voice even sounded a trifle sharp.
"What are you loafing there for?" she demanded. "Why didn't you go
with Muriel to the hockey?"
He hesitated for a single instant. Then--for he never lied to
Daisy--quite honestly he made reply. "I didn't want to."
Her pale face frowned down at him, though the eyes had a soft light
that was like a mother's indulgence for her wayward child.
"How absurd you are! How can you be so lazy? I won't have it, Blake.
Do you hear?"
He moved forward a few steps till he was immediately below her, and
there stood with uplifted face.
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