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You do look white to-day, my dear," he observed, turning anxiously toward his wife. "Do I?" she replied. The unsteadiness of her tone was hardly appreciable, but it was not lost on Broomhurst's quick ears. "Oh, I don't think so. I feel very well."
There was an air of distinction about his clear-cut, clean-shaven face, possibly intensified by contrast with Drayton's blurred features; and it was, perhaps, also by contrast with the gray cuffs that showed beneath John's ill-cut drab suit that the linen Broomhurst wore seemed to her particularly spotless. Broomhurst's thoughts, for his part, were a good deal occupied with his hostess.
Broomhurst's quick eyes noted the silent momentary clinching of the hands that hung at her side, as she stood leaning against the support at the entrance. "But how stupid of me to give you such a bad impression of the camp the first evening, too!" Mrs. Drayton exclaimed, presently; and her companion mentally commended the admirable composure of her voice.
"I'll come and see if they've fixed you up all right," said Drayton, following his companion toward the new tent that had been pitched at some little distance from the large one. "We shall see you at dinner then?" Mrs. Drayton observed in reply to Broomhurst's smile as they parted.
He grasped his spoon tightly in his bony hand, so that its swollen joints stood out larger and uglier than ever, his wife thought. Her eyes wandered to Broomhurst's hands. They were well shaped, and, though not small, there was a look of refinement about them; he had a way of touching things delicately, a little lingeringly, she noticed.
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