XXVII
NEW ROME AND AVALON
Upstairs, Mrs. Bell and the children were still asleep; in the dining-room, Hugh Farrell and Letty were breakfasting by lamp-light. It was half-past five o'clock; a thick November fog was smothering the dawn.
"It's as well it's a dark morning," Letty said; she tried to speak cheerfully. "You won't be likely to be seen."
Hugh made no answer; he was eating with leisurely enjoyment. But after a moment he glanced up and saw his wife leaning back in her chair and watching him sadly.
"Let! You're not worrying!"
"No, of course not," she answered, with a sudden show of indignation, that he should suspect her of such weakness. "What would I be worrying about?"
"I thought you could n't be. You're too red-headed. Red heads don't worry; they get mad."
He dodged below the table in affected alarm, and after a moment looked above the edge of it timidly.
"You're the silly," she said; and he reappeared and resumed his breakfast, satisfied at having driven the sadness from her face. After a moment she went to a window to straighten a shade; she stood there, looking out into the weltering fog.
"If you see anything interesting, you might let me know," her husband said; but she did not respond to his teasing; she stood looking out into the blankness. Suddenly she turned and said earnestly,—
"Hugh, you will be careful, won't you?—not to get into any fight."
