A foot touched her back.

She gave a little gasp.

Derek's voice whispered hoarsely: "What?
Who are you ?" And, below her breath, she answered: "Nedda." His arms wrenched her away from the banister, his voice in her ear said: "Nedda, darling, Nedda!" But despair had sunk too deep; she could only quiver and shake and try to drive sobbing out of her breath.

Then, most queer, not his words, nor the feel of his arms, comforted her--any one could pity!--but the smell and the roughness of his Norfolk jacket.

So he, too, had not been in bed; he, too, had been unhappy! And, burying her face in his sleeve, she murmured: "Oh, Derek! Why ?" "I didn't want them all to see.